#this team is not a team... i fear this team is a handful of people in a trenchcoat

[iqxatlantic]

ft. shidou ryusei . birthdays . ok hes subby too kinda . is he ooc? . yeah probably . gn! reader . implied afab! reader . fluff . imagines . drabbles . i don't even know at this point . established relationships . unreliable narrator . not proofread .

shidou has so much love for you, so much that it was practically TRAGIC. this man would cling onto you like leech whenever you had to do something productive with your life. not that you cared, it's shidou. you'd just slowly pry him away and get your work done.

so on july 7th, shidou woke up, turning to his side, ready to bombard you with kisses. next to him was air — your place was empty. "what the fuck?" he'd whisper to himself, "there goes my baaaby..." he'd sing.

he rolled around in bed — because he could. though he was upset his partner wasn't in bed with him, he wasn't really complaining. after minutes of stalling, he got up. walking towards the balcony door and slamming the door open. he walked out, the sun itself for sure feared his presence.

i mean — he's literally radiating. soaking in the sunlight for a bit, he took in a deep breath, shidou yelled, "IT'S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY AHH! another year of being an absolute blessing to the world!" the crickets were silenced. the birds were gone, no where in sight. it was as if a mass population wipe happened.

for a moment, shidou felt a wince of pain. EVEN THE ANIMALS LEFT. but, to be fair he's just so... charismatic that the animals were afraid to be graced by his presence..!

the eccentric man got dressed and headed down the stairs. nothing. oh. maybe a pang of pain hit him. (realistically speaking i guarantee you it was a whole brick wall) "well fuck," he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "it is what it is, i being myself is the biggest birthday gift..."

this man is ALLERGIC to doubting whatever is going on. modern day founding father of assumption i guess. shidou just accepted the fact everyone forgot and called it a day. which is odd because he would NOT be afraid to rub it in people's faces.

yeah, that accepting facade was quickly shattered the moment you came back. he was like a little puppy that was waiting politely (ahem he was rabid af??)

"[name]! you're back! you didn't forget about me, right..? riiiight?" he excitedly pressed. you demanded him to dress up nicer and he agreed with a snap of a finger.

dragging him by the ear into the car, you two finally made it to your destination. A CLUB? "pfft, a club? with hookers? honey, i already have yo- oh okay," shidou folded immediately.

into the club you two went and oh — oh my gods. there was a whole room DEDICATED for his birthday. with a fat golden happy birthday ribbon taped onto the walls, colourful flashing light. sae. rin. his rivals. his team members. at this point shidou was just in awe. how the hellyante did you get his rivals to join? that is a question no one is bothering to answer. (you're just that good!)

"happy birthday, ryusei!" everyone cheered in unison. tears pricked his eyes as he raised his hands to cover his mouth. turning towards you, he swooped you into a kiss before you could even react.

"best birthday ever," he smiled with such a childish demeanour you felt so healed.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags ! : @shidoglazer (because its shidou ok </3)

a/n : had to write for my twin honestly #inshidouwet(h)rust! i dont even think any of this make sense wtf is this mischaracterization maybe don't jump me let a girl have fun 😔

[woso-story]

Always By Her Side

Giulia Gwinn x Reader

The sun cast its warm glow across the stadium in St. Gallen, the stands already humming with excitement. You stood in the crowd of buzzing German supporters, a jersey with Gwinn 7 on your back, and a scarf tightly wrapped around your wrist. Beside you sat Giulia’s parents—her mother’s nervous smile mirrored your own, and her father clapped along with the fans, proud and calm on the surface, though you could see the tension in his hands.

The opening whistle of Germany’s first match against Poland had all the makings of a classic. But for you, this was more than just a game. It was a culmination of years of sacrifice, pain, resilience, and love. Because out there, wearing the captain’s armband for Germany, was your girlfriend of five years: Giulia Gwinn.

The stadium roared as the teams stepped onto the pitch, and you immediately found her—sharp eyes, steely gaze, head held high. She scanned the crowd for a moment, and when her gaze landed on your section, a flicker of a smile crossed her lips. Your heart clenched. She looked like she belonged here—like this moment had always been meant for her.

Since Alexandra Popp’s retirement, it had been a question of who would lead the next generation. And here she was. After two ACL tears, brutal months of rehab, countless tears and doubts—she had fought her way back, again and again. You knew every scar, physical and emotional, and you had watched her battle her way to this moment. And now she stood tall, the captain of Germany.

“She’s the strongest person I know,” you said to her mother, barely audible over the crowd. She nodded, holding back tears of her own.

The match kicked off, and it was clear from the start that Poland had come to fight. Germany struggled to find rhythm in the first half. Sloppy passes, missed opportunities, tension creeping in with every minute. But Giulia was everywhere—charging down the flank, whipping crosses into the box, barking orders, clapping encouragement, holding the team together with sheer will.

You cheered every touch, every sprint. Your voice was already hoarse, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was her.

And then, the moment came—the one that shattered everything.

Poland won the ball and countered quickly. Ewa Pajor darted into space, and before you could even take a breath, Giulia was chasing her down. The two clashed in a fierce sprint—shoulder to shoulder, step for step. Giulia lunged in for the tackle, precise as always.

But she didn’t get back up.

You didn’t see exactly how she landed. The ball rolled harmlessly away, but your eyes were locked on her as she stayed down, clutching her knee. Pajor immediately waved to the sideline, panic in her expression.

“No, no, no…” you murmured, standing instinctively.

Giulia’s mother gasped, her hand flying over her mouth. Her father leaned forward, rigid. All around you, people were murmuring, confused. But you… you knew. You had seen this before. You felt it in your bones.

A few teammates ran toward her. They crouched beside her, trying to comfort her. Lea placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered something only Giulia could hear. The medics rushed on, assessing her quickly. You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Then—relief. Giulia stood back up. She limped, but she was walking.

“She’s okay,” you whispered hopefully.

But that hope shattered minutes later when Giulia sat down again, this time near midfield. She buried her face in her hands, and the sight broke you. She was crying—and you knew exactly what she feared. Not again. Please, not again.

“She thinks it’s her ACL again,” you whispered. “She’s terrified.”

The entire stadium clapped as she was helped off the pitch. No stretcher—she insisted on walking. Applause thundered through the air, but your heart was splintering. Her head was down. Her shoulders shaking.

“I need to go to her,” you said, already moving.

“Wait until halftime,” her father said gently, catching your arm. “She needs a moment. Give her that.”

You nodded slowly, sitting back down. But your knee bounced uncontrollably, fingers clenched in your lap. The last few minutes of the half crawled by like molasses. You couldn’t even focus on the match anymore. You were stuck replaying her face over and over again.

When the halftime whistle blew, you shot up and made your way through the stadium tunnels with her parents in tow. You found one of the assistant medical staff in the hallway.

“Where is she? Please,” you asked, barely containing your urgency.

“She’s with the team doctor,” he said. “Give them a minute.”

You waited.

Five eternal minutes passed before the doctor stepped out. His face was serious but not grim.

“You can see her now. We’ll head to the hospital for scans shortly. It’s a knee injury, but we won’t know how bad until the imaging is done.”

You rushed inside.

There she was—Giulia, lying on a medical bench, her gaze fixed blankly on the white wall. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her jaw clenched. Her leg was lightly wrapped, but the pain on her face wasn’t just physical.

Her mom got to her first, brushing hair from her forehead, whispering to her softly in German. Her father placed a gentle hand on her arm, whispering encouragements. After a minute, they stepped back and gave you space.

You moved to her side and dropped to your knees beside the bed. You reached out, cupping her cheek.

Her eyes finally moved. When she saw you, her expression cracked.

She leaned into your palm for the briefest moment, before more tears spilled from her eyes. You leaned in, kissing her forehead, your other hand gently brushing away the tears.

“It's my ACL,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“No,” you said gently. “We don’t know that yet. Let’s wait for the scans. Even if it is—we’ll deal with it. Together.”

She closed her eyes, breathing hard through her nose.

“You’ve come back before,” you whispered, voice breaking with emotion. “You’ll come back again. You’re the strongest person I know.”

You stayed beside her for the rest of the transport, holding her hand in the ambulance, never letting go. At the hospital, the scans took time—but eventually, the results came back.

“It’s not your ACL,” the doctor said. “It’s a medial collateral ligament injury. Significant, but not season-ending. You’ll need rehab, but… it’s not the worst-case scenario.”

Giulia let out a breath she’d been holding for hours. Her lips trembled. And then—she smiled. Just a little. But it was enough to melt your heart.

Back at the team hotel that night, the coaching staff made an exception. Under the circumstances, you were allowed to stay with her. You helped her up to the room, the physios handing you ice packs and instructions for the night.

She sat down slowly on the bed. Her eyes were still red, but her spirit—though shaken—was still there.

You knelt beside her again. “You’re going to come back even stronger.”

She looked at you, voice barely a whisper. “Thank you for being here.”

“I’ll always be here,” you said. “If you need me… I’m yours.”

Later, after helping her shower, you got her into fresh clothes, tucked a pillow under her leg, and sat beside her in bed. The ice pack rested on her knee. Her head rested on your chest.

You kissed her temple again and again, brushing your fingers through her hair.

“We’ve done this before,” you whispered into her hair. “And we’ll do it again. Together.”

Giulia didn’t respond right away—but the way she clung to your shirt, the way her fingers curled into yours, said everything.

The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But love would carry you both through it—just like it always had.

And before long, Giulia Gwinn would be back. Because she was a fighter. Because she was loved.

And because she was never alone.

[alice-angel12x]

The Blue Knight Ch.8

Truth and Lies arc

Ch. 7/ Ch. 9

A land of burning sands and spice winds, Tall mountains that meet the clouds. At the very top, a bagoda could be seen. A heavenly garden, surrounded by strange sugar monsters.

The Scout team had traveled far and wide over beast yeast, locating man lactions ruled by the beast cookies. But they made sure to keep a safe distance away. Writing down all they could observe, identifying the monsters, and locating the beasts.

Till they finally reached the last corner of Beast Yeast. A strange place that seemed to be in a perpetual night. A place full of strange beasts and people. People who really seemed to enjoy lying to anyone.

Outside of the fairy kingdom, beast yeast is not a safe place. I hope this report reaches you, Pure Vanilla. And by the time you read this, we will be back in Crispia.

Sincerely,

Y/n Knight Cookie.

-----------------------------------------------

"There we go," Y/n sighed as they finished sealing the report.

Y/n turned to one of Raisin Cookie's trusted crows. Just as they were about to hand the letter over, chaos erupted in the camp. Creatures large, small, and long. All creatures of black and blue attacked.

The crow, in a panic, flew off dropping Y/n's letter in the forest. Y/n drew their sword and charged the enemy.

"Retreat to the fairy kingdom! I'll cover you!" Y/n commanded as they slice down the monsters.

The able-bodied helped the wounded evacuate, as one of them activated the moon stone. Opening a portal to the fairy kingdom, as the scout party funnels through.

Y/n, seeing that most of the scout party was through, cast a giant blast of blue fire as they turned to make for the portal.

"Hurry!" The cookie from the other side of the portal cried out.

Y/n picked up their pace when a tentacle of darkness wrapped around their ankle. Suddenly, more wrapped around them, their arm, torso, and face. As it began to pull them to the ground.

The last thing Y/n could see was the horrified faces of the scouts as the portal closed, and they were dragged away.

"I found you! Oh, I can't wait to see poor pure Vanilla's face when his favorite pal is gone!" A familiar voice chuckled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back in Crispia (The Vanilla Kingdom)

10 months after the scouts returned, Pure Vanilla received the bad news. Black Raisin watched her friend closely. In public or when in sight of others. He would put on a face and act as if he is recovering.

But when he is alone, the world seems to dim. He wanders the castle, the garden of lilies. He would stare and sit close to the lone Blue lily in the tiny garden of white.

Black Raisin Cookie had to make sure he was eating properly throughout the day. If left alone, the poor king would not eat. He would simply stare at the empty chair across from him, and they were supposed to sit there.

One can only wonder how he mustered the strength to smile and be brave for the people. When inside, all he wished was to have his beloved knight back in his arms.

Yet he was... Not. Alone. As the poor king tossed and turned in bed, the soul jam was there to witness. The beast was giddy in delight at his other half's misery.

________________________________________________________

In a blink, he wasn't looking at pure vanilla. But his lovely guest is high in the spire's tower.

"I hope my guest enjoys their sweet room. They're lucky I was feeling generous with them," Shadow milk cookie smirks.

"Master shadow milk, I fear I don't quite understand your scheme here. You had them where you wanted them; why not crumble them?" Black Sahire Cookie asked.

"Simple, there are just too many possibilities on how to cause the most distress for Pure Vanilla. I could simply keep them out of reach, steal them away, maybe even turn her into a minion of deceit. So many choices," Shadow Milk smirks.

Shadow Milk vanishes into the shadow, leaving Black Sapphire and the all-seeing orb. When Candy Apple Cookie kicks open the door. Probably looking for Shadow Milk Cookie.

"Ew, who's that?" Candy Apple Cookie asks.

"Our Master's Guest," Black Sapphire explains simply.

"For how long?" Candy Apple whined. "Guests need so much attention. Attention that should be mine."

"For as long as the master allows, I suppose," Black Sapphire shrugs.

Candy Apple huffs in annoyance, as long as they don't keep Shadow Milk's attention for too long. Then it's fines. She thinks to herself.

"So what's so special about them. They look so ... Plain and boring," Candy Apple comments.

"Well, they are Pure Vanilla's lover, so Master Shadow Milk wants to keep them forever apart," Black Sapphire says.

"Wow, boring Cookies like other boring cookies. Whatever, I'm going to find my pretty shadow Milk cookie," She sighs and skips off.

Black Saphire sighs as he looks back at the all seeing orb. "I guess it could be fun breaking them down before Pure vanilla arrives," Black Sapphire smirks. Deciding to pay a visit to the guest.

________________________________________

Are You Ready for Shadow Milk and Minion Shinanagins!! Sorry for the short chapter. I didn't just wanna cut to the next arc. I need to ease into it.

Anyways, I will try to keep updating/ flush out the story. Hitting 300 notes will expedite the next chapter's release ( higher priority).

So see yeah soon.

[groovycreatormughoagie]

K-Pop Demon Hunters X Reader

I don't know what I'm writing, I just am.

Warning: not constructed well since I made it on a whim.

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

Honestly?

You just want to go back to your apartment and sleep the days away, but sadly that isn’t an option the moment to stepped into your small place because of one specific problem…

“Git! Go! Shoo! Stop breaking my stuff! I have no money to pay for those!” Screaming in anger instead of fear, hands gripped on a mop as you kept stabbing and swatting demons left and right who invaded your property.

“Tell your bossman I’m not doing any more favor for his scorching ass!” You shouted loud before kicking a demon out your balcony and locking the door shut.

The mop is thrown into a corner as you slumped into the couch with an exhausted groan, curling up in your blankets and stuffed shark before turning the TV on for a distraction.

“next generation demon hunters... That burning pile of ash is gonna get his ass beat.. AGAIN.” You murmured as the trending K-Pop group Huntrix is once again on screen with their new song ‘Golden’. “…bet he’s just salty he just can’t sing.” A snort of laughter briefly escape you, eyes drifting to your phone on the coffee table.

You stared at it for a good while before sighing, turning over to stare at the ceiling instead, “don’t even think about it, she won’t even look at you.” mumbling to yourself as you held the stitched up stuffed shark above you.

“Out of all the generations we met, Celine’s the most mean one huh?” You asked the shark like it held answers, but it just stared with a derpy look from the crappy sewing you did with limited resources.

You groan loud, hugging the shark close as you stared into the ceiling while swimming deep into your thoughts.

Generations of hunters protecting the people with their voices and strengthening the Honmoon, you’ve always felt it weaken after every golden seal, like a net fraying from use. You tried telling the Sunlight Sisters when you were still in contact with the three, but Celine insisted it was nothing, twisting your words that made it seem you wanted them to stop sealing the Honmoon gold which triggered the massive argument between your relationship with the hunters.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like that…

that thought always echoed in your head, eyes shut tight like the memory still stings you. The moment you snapped out of desperation where your demon marks glinted with malicious light, the faces of betrayal in their eyes, weapons aimed at you as you backed away trying to prove your innocence- hoping they could hear you— see you past the marks that littered your skin. But for the best of everyone involved, you just apologized and left in a wisp of smoke, never heard from again.

A few fans noticed the Sunlight Sisters’ personal guard was replaced by a new face, questions started rising. The whole team orchestrated a believable reason of your disappearance, saying you retired and chased your own passions in life, the trio went along with it to avoid the drama. Just swept under the rug and forgotten, cut from the piece of history.

Here you are now, living somewhere remote and away from media, appearance slightly altered so no one could recognize you. Most would just assume you’re the daughter of the Sunlight Sisters’ semi-famous bodyguard if they're one of those hardcore fans- borderline stalking at this point. But other than that, you're just living a simple life and earning money through hard, physical labor with any job you can find (thanks to demon strength I guess).

You squint at the glow of the Honmoon, hand reaching upwards and grazing the illuminating glow with a frown. Through demonic eyes, you could see it. Thread by thread, it was barely holding on.

You drop your hand and stared at the derpy shark you held on your chest.

“…”

“Don’t stare at me like that. You know she’ll push me away just like before.”

“…”

“Duh? What do you think? I’m just a demon in Celine’s eyes, remember? Just- threw all the memories and friendship the moment these stupid marks were revealed. I got nothing here, buddy."

“…”

“….I hate it when you’re right.” A grumble came from your throat as you glared at the shark plushie, putting the little guy in your shirt pocket.

“Let’s hope the new trio are more accepting… but first-“ you stood up, turning the TV off and picking your phone up with the intention to call. “we need to rebuild new connections and blend in. Back to work I guess."

Yeah, sleeping in is much better than doing anything, but you'd kick yourself if humanity crumbles when you could've done something to help. Plus your favorite noodles would cease to exist if humans died in the hands of Gwi-Ma!

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

I never wrote on Tumblr, just lurked like a ghost, so this is a first for me. I don't even know what to do with this fic since this came from my 3AM thoughts and dreams when I sleep after a coffee.

Tell me your thoughts about this (constructive criticism is appreciated). Might continue it or something, who knows.

I'll also take any advice on how to write on here, make it aesthetically pleasing and easy for people to navigate if this story becomes a series in the future.

[hey-itsdollie]

can you do one about how the blue lock characters would react the s/o f!reader being insecure about their weight at the beach? like they are super fit and strong and I often get insecure when I see people who are better than me at taking care of themselves. I am not talking plus size, we have seen that many times (love a plus size girly im married to one but i dont think i should ramble about her in a request lmao) but I want something I can actually relate to so I want to see like a curvy body that is considered over weight even if to anyone else it looks perfectly fine but it's just like- you know you are over weight yk what I mean?

I'm dyslexic btw sorry about how horrible my request might be to try understand

Inner Turmoil.ᐟ.ᐟ

‧₊˚ ┊ In which your thoughts take over at the beach

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » gagamaru. karasu.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ comfort, fem reader, established relationship

── .✦ Gin Gagamaru

You and your boyfriend decided to go to the beach. After an hour of arriving, you started to regret suggesting to have a beach day. It wasn’t like you weren’t physically having fun, hell dating Gagamaru brought enough entertainment to your life.

It was the simple things, ya know.

But it was just. The beach was awfully busy today. Your eyes couldn’t help but look around at the different families, couples, and even singles. People watching as you observe them. Small parts of your mind picking out the differences between them and you. Whether it was swimsuit styles, colors, hair textures, amount of tan you might have, and the curves…

You weren’t necessarily plus size, but you were still a bit overweight in your mind. Though you didn’t make much comments about it verbally. Mentally on the other hand was a different story.

Your eyes lifted to see your two-toned boyfriend walking up to you, his large body completely blocking the sun out of your view. “What is it Gin?” You question tilting your head. “Want to go swimming?” He asked in a blank tone, his wide eyes looking you over as if sensing your discomfort.

“No, Gin I don’t really feel like it…” You smile sadly. He didn’t seem to take that as an answer as he easily picked you up. “You’ll feel better in the water…” He muttered his hands rubbing your skin as he carried you to the water. Only placing you down when you were waist deep. Your positioning caught your attention as he stood in front of you, his body obscuring your view of the people on land.

Catching your strayed attention, Gagamaru splashed you. “Hey, Gin!” You groaned as he kept splashing you. Your hands began to splash him in return as he swam to you and held you close to him.

── .✦ Tabito Karasu

“Everything alright?”

Karasu’s voice brought you out of your inner turmoil. Your vision seems to come together from it’s blurred–out focused state, whilst focusing on the male.

His hands were coated in sunscreen as he rubbed the substance on your back. He had paused his movements, with his questions he gave you his attention. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered though your throat was dry.

In reality you weren’t that well. It wasn’t like you were sick, it was simply your mind–your mind and it’s nasty thoughts.

Your eyes dragged over the beach goers, seeing the more slimmer girls with their boyfriends. A match made in heaven. Then you look at your boyfriend, toned and built perfectly, his skin a soft tan as if he was kissed by the sun during his daily runs.

You weren’t nearly as toned nor built as him. Most workouts you did consisted of small walks or cleaning–if anything. Of course, Karasu was part of an official soccer team. He had to work out consistently.

“You’re doing it again.” You looked over at Karasu, his eyes moved over you as if checking to see if anything was physically wrong. Somewhere in your mind you were pleading for him to not look too long–in fear that he might find something that would disgust him.

Instead he leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “You look beautiful in that swimsuit.” He spoke softly, going back to rubbing in the sun screen.

Karasu often made rude comments–though when compliments seemingly only for you, left him it meant a lot.

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[sur-i-ki]

Lessons in Love

Naruto never understood what love was. If anything, he was scared of it. From a young age, love was his ‘Jiji” coming into his house with an envelope full of colorful paper, paper that allowed him to get ramen, to get clothes. Love was not being hit at a store, just glared at. Love was a sensei not kicking him out of class, even if he had to stand the entire time. Love was Ichiraku ramen, with the pretty ‘Nee-san’ and her extra treats.

And the thing is, Naruto never really minded this love. That’s all he knew then. His village loved him in the sense that the level of cruelty decreased overtime. He supposed he was getting more handsome and cute, so of course they couldn’t be mean to a face like his.

He truly didn’t realize how wrong he was.

Love became his team. Love was his sensei patting his head, gently instructing him in hand signs, and letting him hold onto his jacket. Love was Sakura bringing him snacks, getting angry at him with shaky hands when he had a particularly hard fall, and smiling at him. Love was Sasuke looking at him, not through him, meeting every kick with an equal one, and overall ridiculous antics on a daily basis. Love was knowing he could go anywhere and have these three people, his family and friends, be right behind him or beside him. Love was support, late night talks out on missions, and the trust they had in each other in the heat of a fight.

With the positives, he realized, there were many things that came unwarranted. Fear, he learned quickly, accompanied love every time.

Love was biting his cheeks till they bled when Kakashi sensei went ahead to scout in enemy territory. Love was holding onto Sakura’s frail body when she passed out from chakra exertion during medical training. Love was a white-knuckled grip on a kunai when Sasuke clutched his eyes, face contorted in pain as he ran through ancient clan training. Love was his heart pounding not from excitement, but from fear, watching his people hurt and be vulnerable in ways that showed their mortality to him.

Regardless, he still loved love, because after living so long without it, he clutched onto it even if it made his hands bleed.

But with you, he learned love came in many forms. This love was slow and fast at the same time.

It was him tailing Kakashi with the team and running into you trying to reach the top shelf in a bookstore. It was him glancing at the teetering book pile threatening to fall on your head, then back Kakashi in the adult section. It was him trusting his team (even though they all knew they’d never see his face, like come on, they’d all gotten their hands on a Bingo book by now), and covering your body as you grabbed your book. Love was him staring at you, as you stared back, eyes wide, as he was pummelled with books. His eyes fell to your neck, where a shinobi headband was hanging, and he turned bright red, even as he noticed that the amount of books hitting him was not the same number as the books in the pile.

You smirked at him, and he was absolute toast.

“Can I help you?” and he turned his head just a bit to notice all the books were caught in a chakra net, and he had unseemingly overreacted. He hurriedly apologised, making sure to convey that, “No, I’m not downplaying your strength and skill” and “I just reacted without thinking” because Sakura was as ruthless as she was kind, and had made sure to make her boys realize that kunoichi were as deadly as they came.

You laughed politely, pulling away to hug Sauskra, and waved goodbye. His ears were bright red as Sasuke and Sakura teased him relentlessly, only quieting when he looked at the both of them pointedly. Wrong choice, because he was immediately pinned with stares that promised bodily harm, and quickly realised that there was no better time to start running as fast as he could.

Love was him taking a longer route back home, to bump into you and talk. And it spun and spun, coincidences turning into friendship. Training together, eating together, learning that you were an outlier, how you were an elite shinobi in training by being the adopted ward of some councilman. Naruto soon learned that if he wanted to keep you talking, he shouldn’t mention that little fact.

He saw the way you shut off, when Danzo was mentioned, tugging on your sleeves and twitching towards your kunai and medical pouch. He wasn’t dumb, he had grown up in the belly of the slums of his village, and knew what you might’ve experienced. He slowly controlled his anger on your behalf, knowing you were more than capable, but it still hurt to know what you went through. He let you know, and all you had done was lean into his side a bit more, mumbling a soft “thank-you”.

The years went on. He begged his sensei and his “Baa-chan” for a duo mission with you once, after the promotions when his class cohort were chunins. You were his superior, being an elite jonin, reporting only to Kakashi and the Senior Council. He was beyond elated to be given a recon mission, packing away scrolls and food, smiling at the thought of spending time doing something he loved with you.

And in that horrible mission gone south so fast, he learned love could be a vicious thing, tinging his world red. The Akatsuki members were relentless and ruthless, cruel and conniving in their methods to tear you two apart. To take him away. Love was you standing in front of him, pushing the enemy back with a roar, baldes whistling in their speed, refusing to let them take the one thing the world allowed you to have.

Love became, for him, for you, a thing you can’t explain. An inexplicable bond, gone beyond the measure of words, forged by the feeling of “Don’t take this one precious thing away from me”. It was looking at you, soaked in blood, trying to snap out of whatever haze you were in, two corpses at your feet and feeling his chest constrict and expand with the onslaught of emotions he had no want, or need, to decipher.

Love was looking at you in that moment and thinking he’s never seen something so breathtakingly beautiful in his life, probably never will.

It was a nightmare trying to explain what happened, but you both gripped onto each other with such a force that no amount of administrative, or raw physical power, could separate you from each other. Not even Danzo, with his threatening jabs and cane taps could move you, someone equal to him in power, and deadly to him because you knew some of the secrets your benefactor had. It made you his enemy, made you dangerous, put a target on your back, but somehow you couldn’t be bothered enough. Even when he called your isolation, because now his Hokage, not his baa-chan, knew the asset you were to the village, to be able to eliminate S-ranks with his help, and hoarded you away from Danzo. You did the majority of talking as he handled keeping the events underwraps, making sure nothing was leaked to anyone outside of a circle of executives.

He didn’t care much for politics. He should have, but he didn’t. He’d learn.

And later that week, late at night, love became fingers sticky with popsicle juice, and laughter under a street lamp, after a horrible experience. Love became tentative touches, furtive glances, and a soft kiss in the glow of fireflies. Love became him touching his lips with shaking fingers, trying to find your warmth on them even after you’d gone inside your home.

For him, after that, love was devotion. Devoted to you. He read you like an open book, studied you like it was his only reason, and poked and prodded you to see the gaps in his knowledge. Love was the quiet understanding you had for him, the grounded hugs, and fierce protection that came for him. For everyone dear to him. Love was realizing what it felt like to be loved.

You loved him back fiercely, for lack of better words. If he was in the same room, love was feeling you stare at him, regardless of circumstances. Love was you integrating pieces of him into your life. His favorite color was the color of your hair tie, or you having ramen stacked in your cabinets for late night meetings. He’d wake up shaking, crying, running from dreams full with cruel eyes and crueler words, and find you there with whispered reassurances and a hand raking through his hair. Love was spending time with each other, was the village knowing as a whole if one of you went anywhere, the other would follow.

From you, he learned love could be home. And that’s a lesson he’d never forget. Love was you teaching him what his worth was, making him realize it came from who he made himself to be, who he thought he was, instead of relying on others to tell him that.

Love was you kissing his forehead when he realized the true extent of how his beloved village had betrayed you and his one brother, who was sitting shell-shocked in a hospital room as Sakura ran damage control. It was you standing behind him in an Anbu mask in that room as he clutched Kakashi’s jacket, feeling like a little kid again.

“Sasuke? Sasuke? His Mangenkyou has been running for three hours, God knows how much damage…” Sasukra fluttered around the room, commanding a team of specialists to treat her teammate with the readiness that came only with being the Hokage’s apprentice. He barely noticed the words exchanged between everyone. Somewhere, he could hear Sakura keeping everyone together through this shitstorm, firm and unrelenting in a way only an earth user could be. Fluid and evermoving the way a water user would be. She held them together as they processed their emotions, even if she had to pause and look at them with worry in her eyes, watching her boys.

Love was realizing that everyone he loved could love each other, as Kakashi looked upon his team, his wards, his pack, and gave you a sure nod. It was Kakashi pulling rank as Commander of the Jonin and Anbu Forces, sending you out for an internal arrest. It was Kakashi handing Sasuke a katana, hand heavy on shoulder as he looked upon the two of you. One, betrayed and used just to be discarded by her ward. One wronged by a greedy and paranoid official, and his village for failing to protect him.

As his team had hurt, as you stood there with a rage that choked you, glazed your eyes over, and made you so lethal even he knew not to speak to you. He held your hand for one moment, trying his hardest to convey his feelings to you.

He turned, making sure Sasuke looked at him, even though his eyes were distant with rage and hurt, made sure he knew that Naruto looked at him as well, acknowledged him. He sends him off with-

“I am honored to be protected by you, and I believe in you. I’ll be waiting.” Love was making sure his people knew they had someone to turn to, it was Sasuke finally looking at him with some warmth in his eyes, a little bit of attitude back in his shoulders. It was you jerking your head in an imitation of a nod.

Your eyes were slow, and you moved in robotic movements, shaking with effort to keep still as his Baa-chan gave you two the command to “neutralize a threat”. Two of his precious people, carrying a burden of familial and blood responsibilities, and watched what twisted ways love could shine through.

Love was you holding yourself delicately, like a bomb ready to explode, waiting to detonate against the one who effectively saved you from a trafficking orphanage, but damned you in other ways in the process. Love was the kindness you showed yourself, showed Sasuke, as he grappled with his emotions. Love was the grief that showed in the lines of Sasuke’s face, the fear and confused hatred for his older brother, and the ache of his bones straining for the love for his clan.

Love was him and Sakura clutching onto each others’ hand, Kakashi standing watch somewhere behind them, covert in their hiding spots, watching the two of you walk into the jaws of a beast. The ROOT faction was something you had barely remembered, whittled down to nightmares from your early childhood, before Danzo pulled you out to train you personally.

You had learned these facts with Sasuke, from meticulous files stowed away in ROOT operative memories. A crucial aspect in the earlier recon mission, because this was a takedown of a pillar of the village, and they had to create scaffolding to ensure the village didn’t crumble away with the pillar.

Naruto watched with a bated breath as you crept through a window, Sasuke following like a shadow, and prayed to all the gods in this forsaken world to keep the two of you safe. But soon, he felt Danzo’s chakra flicker, and there was an onslaught of operative raining down on the, your backup, and he had to use all of his energy to incapacitate them. “No extreme harm unless strictly necessary” your words ring in his ears, “They are just, more used and broken than me…”

The whole ordeal took a day, as intelligence worked to prevent any leaks to the outside world. This was a major compromise of village security, and they had to understand the full extent of Danzo’s deceit to prevent considerable harm to the village.

He couldn’t remember much of what happened, just remembered watching as you and Sauske leaned on each other as you walked out of the wreck, victorious grins on your faces, coated in debris and blood.

Love was the desperation followed by immense relief of watching you both walk out, for the better than for the worse. Love was also understanding that these sequences of events can never repeat themselves again.

And so with his head held high, he walked into Tsunade’s office and told her he was ready. Soon began his training, his molding for a better Hokage, the last line of defence and the first one to further his village in every other way. History, economics, and social sciences were his mornings, followed with leadership training, lunch, and then hours of ruthless training with Kakashi, with Jiraiya, and countless others from the ranks. Tsunade and Sakura strictly monitored his diet, his health, and you and Sasuke filled in any gap with training, mental or physical.

The two of you had bonded like siblings, after the whole Danzo fallout. Sasuke had left the village a few times to find his brother, bring him back home, but with some failed attempts. He’d show, soon, Naruto knew, for now he had access to Itachi’s file as Junior counsellor, knew the extent of Itachi’s sacrifice and involvement. And knew, just from the shaky writing from his last report to Danzo, the lack of missives would force him to come check on his little brother.

You had started glowing, growing stronger with leaps and bounds, as Kakashi also trained you to take over for him. He’d puff up with barely hidden pride, watching his pack rise in the ranks. Sakura, as Head of the Medical Division and Co-head of Torture and Intelligience wit Ino. Sasuke, who was busy raising the police force from the ashes, collaborating with Shikamaru and Ino to integrate it into the jonin and chunin forces. Him, with new bills and treaties and trade deals with countries, all the while working on reforming the system that made them.

And in those once-in-a-blue-moon lazy afternoons, where everyone was lounging around or training, he looked at everyone, and realized this is what love is. Love is change, even if you don’t want to.

Sasuke and Sakura bicker over some policy, throwing words like kunai and shuriken, as Kakashi looks on, face buried in his book. You have your head on his lap, reading from a law book that the both of you will be tested on tomorrow afternoon. He smiles down at you, feeling like he’ll burst from happiness.

Now he understands what love is, was, and will be. And as he rakes his fingers through your hair, he knows he’s not scared of it any longer.

Especially when you turn your head just-so, and say his name like that, smiling at him wolfishly, making his mind go blank with a well placed kiss

Let's get a quick one shot out and call it a day. -Writes for three hours in a haze-Edit: Hit 1.8 K, end nowhere in sight. 2.8k that’s it. Canon was an optional treat, but isn't here, go look somewhere else. Kakashi was given the resources to deal with three emotionally compromised genins, so Sasuke never left, Sakura wasn’t neglected, and Naruto wasn’t favoured that much. Any plot hole in this, fill it with ramen and glue, just don’t bother me. I got possessed. I’ll edit this later.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[xxplastic-cubexx]

BIRTHDAY HAUL courtesy of a very lovely friend of mine 🥺

bonus goofy pics of a bday snack i had earlier with my favorite menace …..

[halfdeadwallfly]

hello i just wrote a poem and for some reason it feels important

[glacierbash]

I know the second I got into ranked crystalline I’d get my ass handed to me, but I really really REALLY wanna become a good pvp player… like I wanna get GOOD at paladin… idk…

[hyoer]

Project: Get Over Bob (2)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now its up to you to carry on Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. Mentions of suicide (vagueish), mentions of child abuse and  forms of non-physical self-harm, mentions of drugs :( Bob just struggling a lot with life but reader and the team are there to make it better even if it’s just a bit. Lots of angst and no comfort… Yet. Also, a bit of kissing. I may have made reader english unintentionally :) expansion of readers relationship with the team!! The Void and a little?bit of the Sentry make an appearance.

word count. 6.5k

Notes at the end of this chapter

part 1.

Phase: Bob?

Robert Reynolds grew up like a dog, held taught at the neck, beaten into submission for the hell of it. He'd spent 29 years running from the cage he grew up in.

From backwater towns to unkind cities, across borders and oceans, he was always searching for his next high.

And every time he found it and crashed, he crashed harder.

All of his misfortune had led him to Kuala Lumpur. What better place, he thought, for cheap meth and good food?

Not that he could afford either once he landed. His so-called "working holiday" quickly devolved into sleepless nights and cheap motel rooms.

The lab was a nightmare, and the splitting of his mind it hurt, it hurt so much. But none of that pain could compare to the guilt.

The sickening knowledge that he'd hurt people.

That he'd become the thing he feared.

His father had always told him: Violence is in your blood. One day, you'll understand it's not cruelty—it’s survival. Bob had spent his life trying to prove him wrong, only to fail.

Waking up in the vault was terrifying. But that fear was eclipsed by the feeling of something stronger, the opportunity of a real life.

A final chance.

He regarded it as the single most important moment of his life. Sure, getting the sentry serum was life-changing. But he’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping what he had now.

And you were there the day it all started.

You weren’t a child assassin like Yelena, or a phasing shadow like Ava, or a walking weapon like Alexei, Bucky, or Walker. But you moved with purpose. Precision. That quiet intensity set you apart. You weren’t the strongest in the vault. But took twice as many hits as you dealt and got up three times as fast.

Now, in the tower, most of Bob’s nights were spent with you. He’d perch himself on your sofa, fingers picking at the frayed threads along the armrest, eyes blurred but never closed. You’d talk about everything. The strange weather patterns, Alexei’s obsession with marketing, the new taco shop opening downstairs—mundane things, your voice soft and steady, trying to anchor him.

The room always felt smaller when you were there. Your presence was a warmth that filled every corner, something he could almost reach out and hold if he wasn’t so afraid of breaking it somehow.

But even you couldn’t keep the thoughts out.

The silence between your words gave them space. The darkness of the room fed them. And the safety you offered made them bolder.

“I wish I’d died in Sarasota.” he said one night.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with a fear he hadn’t expect.

“Hey—no, no. Please don’t say that, Robert.”  you moved closer  “Please just- just look at me.”

Your hand cupped his face, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw, soft and trembling.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was a safe feeling touch, he’d always wanted that.

You always gave it to him.

“Look, I won’t tell you that you can’t feel like this, it wouldn’t be right for me to say that. But you’ve been working so hard to unpack your issues and work at them, please, please just give yourself the credit you deserve.”

He blinked up at you, fighting the urge to look away.

“Most people go their whole lives never even trying to unpack their pain,” you continued, voice low but unwavering. “But you—you’re facing it. That’s brave.”

And for a moment.

The void inside him seemed to shrink that bit smaller.

Being at the tower felt freer than the life of a nomad he’d adopted for the past 7 years. There were still plenty of rules, curfews, schedules and therapy sessions—but the structure gave him purpose. It kept his mind and body active.

Every morning, Yelena would bang on his door like a madman.

“Make sure you grab your coffee ~” she’d call through the door, already bounding halfway down the hall by the time he’d have opened his eyes.

There, he’d find you with your back turned, shuffling through the music on your phone, tapping your foot lightly to the beat. He’d reach over and grab two cups for you both before heading out for a run in Central Park with Yelena, well, he’d be attempting to run, but that was besides the point.

He’d run beside Lena, wheezing through half-finished stories about old jobs or nights he barely remembered. She’d hit back with tales from the Red Room. They were always darker, sometimes sad, but she was a master of comedy so he’d be barking out laughs between gasps for air the whole way.

Once she was finished torturing him he’d head back to the tower to meet Ava in the lab.

She was helping him work toward his GED—something he’d started years ago, then abandoned when life got too loud. Now, with all the time and resources in the world, he thought it would be a good time to start again.

Ava was the best teacher he could ask for.

She never rolled her eyes when he forgot how to do something, never laughed when he misread something aloud.

Her teaching was patient and kind.

She wasn’t much of a talker, which was a given with her solitary upbringing, but that was fine with him. They’d spend time in comfortable silence, with Bob occasionally breaking it to ask a question. Both of them used to the quiet, neither of them quite understood what normal looked like but their quiet friendship fulfilled them both.

After finishing up with his work, Bucky would usually steal him away for sparring.

“You keep dropping your guard.” he’d grunt, tossing Bob onto the mat for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

“I don’t have a guard.” Bob would mutter, staring up at the ceiling begging someone, anyone for a break.

He hated physical exercise.

The sentry serum had made Bob invincible and while he didn’t feel any pain, his frustration was with his lack of ability.

His strength was absolute, his body impenetrable, but, he wanted to be able to move around with the same grace and stealth that the others did.

Bucky pushed him harder than anyone else.

But it never felt cruel.

It was focused and encouraging.

Like he was his older brother who believed in him enough to never go easy.

You’d sometimes be there too, just out of sight in the adjacent room. You’d be reviewing mission footage or deep in a debrief.

Bob liked it better when you weren’t watching. Not because he didn’t want you there, he just preferred to keep his exploits or lack thereof between the senator and himself instead.

Dinner was one of the best parts of his day.

Sitting at the dinner table didn’t involve endless lectures or threats of harm. Alexei and John would always be the first ones at the table, seated across from him like some sort of strange uncle-nephew trio. They weren’t constantly at each others throats but when they were it was way more entertaining for him.

John always had a dumb joke ready but Alexei managed to always have a weirder one. Half the time, they would argue about whether Kramer vs Kramer was a Christmas movie or if John had browned the butter well enough for the banana bread.

“Why do you even eat potatoes like this?” Alexei would say, stabbing one with his fork “It is so dry, no soul.”

“You’re literally Russian dude?!!” John would shoot back his voice raising an octave.

“Russia has great food, you know my father-”

Bob was definitely not listening to the rest of that. But he would smile and finish his meal with a warmth in his heart and that’s all that mattered.

You and Bob would take your daily walks after dinner.

The city was quieter at night.

Well, New York never really was, but it was quieter in the way Bob liked. Just a low rumble of traffic in the distance and the occasional click of footsteps as you both aimlessly wandered.

Bob chuckled at your retelling of your siblings meeting Ava for the first time. His smile lingered even after you’d finished talking, it was a strange one. It felt like he was half-sincere and half-lost in thought. His steps slowed and he turned to you, “You’re one of my best friends, y’know, just thought I’d tell you.” said more like a question than a statement.

You smiled. “That’s why you’ve been looking constipated this entire walk?”

He huffed a laugh, but his face still has a serious look “I mean it. It’s not just because we have to live together or mission stuff. You’re always there for me even when I’ve been hard to be around.”

“Bob, you’ve never been hard to be around, ever.”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed and eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

“I guess I-I just keep thinking” voice low “That I’m this ticking time bomb. Like the more time you guys spend with me, the quicker I’ll blow up a fuse and hurt you all.”

You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “You ever think that maybe we don’t need protecting from you? That having you around is so good that we’d be willing to keep the Void at bay forever? I would go through hundreds of rooms for you Robert, every damn day if I had to, I’m sure the others would too.”

You didn’t say anything else, and he stared at you for a moment before sputtering out that it was late and you both should head back. He really hoped you hadn’t noticed how red his ears were.

Bob thought that maybe you liked him the way he liked you.

But he decided to push silly thoughts like that away. You would have said that to everyone.

It wasn’t that Bob himself didn’t like you; he just felt as though pursuing you would be another Malaysia. He would somehow grip your light so tightly that it would burn only you, leaving him at the centre of yet another massacre. And Bob was far too kind, he cared for you far too much to doom you to a life of walking on eggshells.

He would get over you. And he knew just what to have to start his journey.

A sweet treat.

Bob didn’t plan on finding the bookstore.

He was walking to find a new dessert place, the serum left him with a serious sweet tooth.

Bob liked walking on Main Street. Sure, there was always a major risk of him literally destroying everyone in the city if the transdimensional being in him escaped but, the feeling off blending in and being normal was worth the risk.

He walked for another ten minutes before he saw it.

The bookstore that you were always raving about. You had begged the whole team to come with you, rambling on about the idea of a book club in preparation for the new Christopher Nolan film, but your pleading had been interrupted by Mel informing them all they had press to finish up.

He decided he’d go in and find you something, that should cheer you up.

Bob wandered into the store, trailing his fingers along the many books, stopping only when he'd collected too much dust for his nose to handle. It reminded him of a place he’d hidden out in once, years ago.

Different city.

Different Bob.

“You looking for anything specific?” came a voice.

He turned and saw her.

A short woman with long loose waves nestled into a bun, a pencil sticking out of her pocket and reading glasses hanging around her neck. She looked at him cheekily and something about the intensity of her gaze flustered him.

“I’m-I’m not really sure, I’m looking for a friend but I have no idea what she would want.” he replied honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

She smiled, “Those are the best kinds of searches.”

Their first conversation was short. She’d recommended some kind of fantasy novel.

He’d bought it and you were so happy that you spent the next two weeks singing Bob's praises to anyone and everyone.

That included Lily.

Bob came back the next week to pick something else out. And the week after that.

And each time, Lily was there with a new recommendation. With questions about what he liked, how he was doing, how you were doing.

Sometimes they talked for a minute.

Sometimes ten.

Bob never told her who he really was, nothing about the Thunderbolts stuff, though he was sure she knew.

Just said his name was Bob and that he was working on “getting his life together”.

She never pried. Never asked why his hands sometimes shook, or why his eyes would occasionally glow. She always spoke to him gently and laughed at his shitty attempts at jokes in a way that made him feel like maybe he was just a guy in a bookstore.

Someone normal.

One day, he decided to be brave, “You ever uh free for a coffee?” he'd asked, the words almost catching in his throat.

“As in to drink it? Or are you asking me out?” she looked surprised.

Shit, she looked like she was freaked out, he almost backed off right then, but he decided to push through. He nodded “Yeah yeah uh the second one.”

She studied his face - not judgmental, just thoughtful - “Okay, yeah sure, but be warned I’m coming in hot off the back of an awful relationship. Like the guy was Loki levels of out of his mind, I may go crawling back.” she joked.

Bob smiled.

“Here. Take my number.”

Once outside with her number tucked safely into his breast pocket, he took a moment to take in a breath.

He thought about you for a second, your smile, your voice and he felt guilty, but you didn’t like him. It was ok for him to move on and he was sure you’d support him putting himself out there.

Right?

Phase 3

Phase 3 was not feeling as easy as you’d predicted it would be.

Not thinking of Bob was difficult. He engulfed your every thought, every second of the day seemed to stretch out further than you thought possible when you worked on any task that didn’t include Bob.

Even sleep didn’t offer a break.

In your dream, Bob appeared doe-eyed, curls falling over his face and his skin glowing. Your hands were roaming his body and his breath was hot against the shell of your ear. He was calm and collected, his movements slow as he cradled you tightly to his chest.

His head turned to you, his lips inching closer to your face and then all at once pressed against yours. His head angled to the right to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip, the action causing you to gasp and heat to bloom in your chest.

As your hands began to reach for his face, they fell through, jolting you awake. Your bed cushioning your movements didn’t stop your face from hitting the side of the bed frame.

You’d never made out with anyone before, so how the hell did the kiss feel so real.

“What the hell?”

Huffing you drag yourself to the bathroom, you find Bucky there brushing his teeth. You say nothing to greet him and the strangeness of your silence isn’t lost on him.

He offers a smile as he makes his way out of your shared space, he’ll bother you later once he brings back a red velvet from the store near his and Steve’s old place in Brooklyn.

Remind yourself to get an electric toothbrush, this one is struggling to withstand the force of your anger as you scrape each tooth with all of your strength.

You were doing so well to not fall back into thinking of Bob.

So why did this dream have to screw everything up?

By the time you’re done damaging your enamel it’s time for another hellish sparring session with John.

Good Lord, you were not in the mood.

You unwillingly tread down to the gym, smelling the clinical bleach mats before you round the corner.

The gym always smelled like sweat, chemical cleaner, and testosterone — basically John's cologne. You pushed the door open hard, making it slam against the frame making John jump from the noise and trip over the weight in front of him. Wait did that weight say 2000kg holy shit-

“What crawled up your ass?” he barked, startled but recovering quickly.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d get a bit of payback. You ready?” He smirked.

The mat is thick beneath your bare feet, cold and spongy. Walker stands a few feet away, stretching out his legs, the muscles in his arms rolling under his shirt. For someone so impossibly strong he sure was wirey looking.

Captain America, my ass. You reminded yourself he had limits — he had to.

You both began circling each other, and a quick step to each side had you both falling into a familiar rhythm.

“You know he came by asking for you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything.” you swing your fist, miming a punch, daring him to act.

Walker was always too trigger happy for his own good.

He would always bite.

“Y’know its pretty obvious to everyone include Bob that you’re distancing yourself from just him,” he said, launching at you with flurry of jabs. You dodged most, but he caught your shoulder and stomach hard.

Jesus that hurt, you deserved an extra matcha latte for lunch as a reward.

“Yeah? Well, he’s the one glued to his girlfriend’s side every hour of the day.” you step back with your arms up “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing “If you don’t like him, then why would it—”

“Oh my God, John,” you cut him off, voice tight  “Everyone knows. I know Bob knows I like him. I don’t understand what people want from me! I’ve been kind. I talk to her, I talk to him. I haven’t said anything mean or snarky, I’m not making a scene. If they’re in the room, I don’t disappear... I’m trying.”

Your breathing was heavy and you could feel the pressure rising behind your eyes. You weren't prone to emotional outbursts and John felt like he’d provoked you without reason.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you whispered.

John looked like he was going to say something — probably a joke, probably one of his usual offhand lines to break the tension.

But he didn’t.

“I see him with her and it really hurts.”  your arms dropped and you began to take the next few of his punches half-heartedly. You weren’t fighting back anymore.

Just standing there, letting the blows land and getting back up like clockwork.

“I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry”

You turn away, walking over to the wall pressing your forehead gently against the cool panelling. It’s the only thing that you could think to do to ground you. John comes up behind you, placing his hand on the top of your back, patting it like he would do to his son when he was helping him drift off to sleep.

John spoke, his tone gentler than usual.

“How do you always eat my hits like that?” he asks “You sure you’re not a mutant or something?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, “If I was, I wouldn’t be a B-grade superhero like Variety said.”

He snorted behind you “And you believe the opinion of the magazine that made me ride my shield like a horse?”

You both laugh. John stands there with you until you calm down.

He tells you to clean up and head back upstairs, he says he doesn’t need you so stressed out so close to you guys’ next mission.

As you make your way up to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle you pass the library, freezing when you see two familiar figures sitting side by side on the floor.

Their arms are fitted so tightly next to one another, they look like their melting into each other. Lily reaches out and nudges a stray curl back behind Bob’s ear.

You feel sick.

Bob’s cheeks flush a little, and he gives her a sheepish grin and you make the mistake of scuffing your slippers across the floor in an attempt to walk away. They both look at you wide eyed, like they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey guys” your voice gentle “Looks like a tornado flew through here, what you up to?” you’re hoping the fake texan twang is enough for them to not see the obvious awkwardness on your face.

Bob giggles and she explains their plan to find the ultimate saag paneer recipe, both finishing the others thoughts and animatedly nudging each other when they think the other ones wrong.

You decide that the scene is too intimate and too domestic and you need to run away.

Bidding them goodbye with a wide smile you all but run past the kitchen to go to your room and stew in your jealousy.

While Lily continues to argue the importance of the four forms of taste Bob swallows hard, his gaze distracted and brows slowly knotting together.

Something seriously doesn’t make sense with you.

You sit with your knees up on your bed, the soft glow from your bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. You make shapes with your hands and play with the shadows, your headphones are playing something by Lorde that makes you feel worse somehow.

That’s a first.

The door to the bathroom slowly cracks open, Ava’s brown curls visible as she inches her way in as quietly as possible.

“I’m awake y’know.” you grin at her, she was so cute when she was trying to be sneaky.

She guffaws “Yeah I k-knew.”

You stare at her accusingly with your brow raised.

“Ok so I thought you were asleep, so what? You can tell me off later once you tell me why you flooded your room on purpose.”

“I plead the fifth.” your expression completely deadpan.

“We’re both English! That doesn’t work.” she laughs out, not angrily but with the same tone a mother would with her child.

“Technically-“

She stops you “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the flying boy that you’ve been pining over?”

“That’s a low blow c’mon.” your pout is unintentional, you love Ava but you do not need to think about him even more after the day you’ve had, it would ruin the plan even more than it already had.

“Can we just drop the topic of Bob and just hang out? Since you’ve already snuck your way into my room”, she stills for a moment and without warning jumps onto your bed and grabs your waist. With her head in your lap you begin to thread your fingers through her scalp.

She mumbles something, half of her mouth buried in the plush fabric of your pyjamas. You’re sure it’s something about the way you keep the room way too cold for comfort.

This is nice you think.

Maybe you don’t need just Bob after all.

Phase 4

Never mind maybe you do.

Bob seems to struggle less and less with the concept of never seeing you around, he fills his time with Lily and her life. You think he seems to fit in fine with her spin classes and zoo dates. Not that there’s anything wrong with exercise and animals.

It isn’t your life, Bob isn’t your boyfriend and he would never want to be.

Ouch.

Maybe you really were on the cusp of really becoming invisible to him.

Just like you wanted?

Whatever, you didn’t have time to think about Project Get Over Bob anyway, Valentina had scheduled a gala to honour the ‘ex- Avengers’ as she called them. None of you were happy with the phrasing and you were sure Sam would talk you, Buck, and Joaqins ear off when you met up later tonight.

Your dress had been fitted a month or two before and Mel had scheduled a glam team for everyone so you go through the first half of the day abnormally relaxed.

You, Yelena, John and Alexei make your way downstairs first. You hear someone mumble about there not being enough space for everyone in the car but the air is so cold and bitter they’re lucky your ears haven’t frozen off by the time you’re off to the venue.

Once there, you struggle to get the train of your dress to stop sticking to the bottom of your heel, you curse loud enough for Alexei to notice and carry you out like a doll.

“Your dress ok my little firecracker?”

“Yeah thanks Lexei. You guys go ahead, I wanna go to the bathroom before heading in”

He nods and turns around, walking towards the others and wrapping his arms around them, binding them to himself as he rushes them in.

As you finally look up at the scene in front of you, your breath stutters.

The building in front of you was immense.

The lights perched about the balcony and grounds are blinding, and you grip the train of your dress in an attempt to calm your nerves. You focus on the sound of constant chatter and the feeling of the pebbled walkway under your heels.

Before your time with the team, you’d worked as a paralegal with the Govenor of New York. It was thankless but looked great on your Linkedin. You hadn’t figured out how to write Avenger in the current jobs section without seeming like an idiot yet. Galas were a common part of your job so you weren’t worried about having to network.

No what you were nervous about was keeping your cool around Bob. You’re sure that seeing him in a suit would kill you.

Now, back from the bathroom you feel a lot lighter and not just physically.

“You’re looking very foxy tonight lady.” without hesitation you reach out behind you to hit Joaqin.

“Why’d you say the same thing to me at every event dumbass.” the man gives you a bone crushing hug and another pair of arms snake around you while he squeezes.

“Buck been training you too hard or something? You look tired.” Sam and Joaqin really were tied at the hip recently, maybe Bob’s comment about them reminding him of Tina and Tina was right.

Wait, get yourself together, no more Bob!

You talk to the both of them for around twenty minutes before you're all ushered into the main room. You move effortlessly between the hoards of investors, senators and random people that you really don’t know, spitting out jokes and making conversation that the others on your team definitely don’t understand. You forget they didn't have to go full corporate for their previous day jobs.

God bless your internship at EY.

As you make your way over to the buffet, a voice calls out your name, you turn and see your friend Finley. He’d worked on a campaign with you a few years back.

You missed being less busy, even the stress of a political campaign was quieter than the constant press and training that had taken over your life. His sudden appearance was a welcome distraction.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to take you in “Avenger, huh? Still can’t believe you went from filing out my paperwork to fighting eldritch horrors.”

“Hey it’s not my fault you were so bad at your job.”

 You both laughed and decided to find a nook to reminise about your awful pay and long nights together.

Your conversation was cut short when your phone buzzed in your clutch. A quick glance at the screen showed Bob was calling you.

You swipe the notification without a second thought.

You tell youself to remember the plan.

But you feel it suddenly, like someone is burning the side of your head with a lighter. What the hell?

When you look to your left, you see him.

Bob stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

His suit is black, tailored so precisely it looks painted onto him. The jacket hugs the top of his shoulders so deliciously, when he moves the fabric pulls just enough to remind you that he actually does have muscles and it isn't just rainbows/kittens under there. His shirt was crisp white, the contrast against his tan skin made your throat dry.

But it’s his face that really leaves you breathless.

His heavy brow bone, sharp and prominent, is even more pronounced under the chandelier lights. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his brow, making his already intense features twice as alluring. And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Wait he looks really pissed.

His usually kind blue eyes looked unsettling, flashing wisps of black and gold. Did Bob always look like he was wearing eyeshadow or was it just today?

His gaze flicks from your face to your phone, then back.

He’d seen you ignore the call.

For a second, you brace waiting for him to say something, to call you out right there and then. But instead, Bob just… turns away but not before you see something raw flicker across his face, you just cant figure out what.

You text him a few times, a flurry of messages explaining you were in the middle of something important and were going to call him back, you promise.

Bob just replies with a thumbs up and tells you not to worry about it.

That somehow makes you feel worse than if he'd told you off.

The rest of the evening is fine, you have fun stuffing your face with courgette tarts but are worried about what to do when you get home. You’re leaving for Ulaanbaatar tomorrow morning and really don’t want to leave on a bad note.

The team was beat by the time the night was over, you all piled into your cabs and single-filed your way up to your rooms.

You’re two steps into yours when Bob lightly pushes his way in before the door closes.

“Hey”

His voice soft.

You turn, and there he is, still in that damn suit, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Was he trying to make you pass out on purpose? His eyes are tired, not angry. It makes you feel guilty, you’d have prefered him to be angry.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he states.

Not an accusation.

Just a fact.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy. The mission prep—”

“Don’t.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that. Not with me.”

You want to look away, but his gaze is so strong it feels like the room is falling away and all you can see is him.

“You haven’t hung out with me in weeks.” he says “You stopped eating breakfast with me, you did a U-turn in the hallway when you saw me last week and I know that you hate pottery so whats going on?” a pause, he looks nervous “Did I do something?”

Your chest aches “No. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. How could you explain? That every time you saw him with Lily, laughing at some joke you weren’t part of, it felt like he was ripping your heart out with his bare hands. That you were supposed to be over him, but you weren’t, and it was eating you alive?

Before you can force out another lie, Bob’s breath hitches. He can see the cogs turning in your head, attempting to lie to him again.

Wait, was the air in the room becoming thicker or was it the stress of the situation settling into your body?

His hands clenches. His pupils dilate—too wide, too gold.

Gold? Shit.

“Bob—” You step forward, but he staggers back, not wanting to touch you, bracing himself against the wall. His knuckles turning white where they grip the plaster, cracks begin to form under his palm.

That was not good.

“I don’t understand what the fuck your problem is! You go f-from telling me you aren’t avoiding me and that we’re such great friends to complete silence. I just, I don’t know what I did to make you upset with me.” his voice tapers off as he lowers his hands from the wall, the anger and frustration leaving his body only to be replaced with the sinking feeling of dread that maybe you really didn’t care for him.

“Hey, sweetheart I think we should both just calm down I’ll-“

“NO, no I won’t, I refuse to be ignored. We’ve devoted ourselves to you, don’t you see that!!” his voice is hoarse and it sounds as if all three of them, Void, Sentry and, Bob are shouting at you.

His body begins shaking and before you can even think you and Bob are completely gripped by the inky black tendrils of the Void.

The Void swallows you whole.

You land on your knees in a familiar place.

“No, no, not here, not again” you whine.

Maria Hill stands to your left, frozen in time.

You missed her, you missed her more than anything.

But you refused to live through it again, you worked so hard to come to terms with that day and it was a low blow for him to show you the room that you’d already worked so hard to leave a year before.

The scene changes and she’s there, right in front of you, bleeding out on the concrete.

Again.

And again.

“You like pulling cheap shots every time you force me to come here?” you scoff, sure the place scares you, but you calm yourself when you remember that Bob is stronger than whatever torture the Void is willing to put you through.

He’ll be here, you know he will.

“It worked on you last time, what’s the harm with trying twice?” a static-like voice whispers out from behind you.

The dark figure steps out in front of you, gripping your arm so tightly you can feel your muscle and bone press grind together. Despite the pain, you can feel him.

Feel Bob.

His presence calms you enough to stop struggling with the vice like force on your body.

You reach out, holding his face. The action angers him. You can’t see him but feel his features curl into a snarl.

“You think that a pathetic fucking human being like you can touch me or calm him? You think he dreams of you or thinks of you even a fraction of the amount you do.” his grip tightens even futher.

“Even the team, they think you’re dead weight, they tolerate you. Nothing more”

Suddenly Bob appears and he’s not alone.

He’s got an arm around Lily, whispering something in her ear and kissing her so deeply it feels innapropriate to observe.

You try to look away but his hand, Bob’s hand, grips your jaw leaving you unable to turn your head.

The Void purrs, his tone amused "He pities you and wants your attention because he’s bored, once he has her do you think he’ll care? He’s too kind to tell you to fuck off"

The Void senses your sudden hurt and latches on.

Digging deeper, he flashes every humiliating memory of yours—failed training sessions, missions where you froze and fucked up, anything that would make you hurt. "You’re a placeholder," he hisses, "a charity case. And the worst part? You know it." 

The shame burns so deep you can’t breathe, can’t think, and as you begin to find your voice to tell him that you didn’t care and he’d had misjudged your reaction, the Void delivers a final blow.

His face flickers to resemble Bob "You really thought I could ever want you?" It’s so cruel and something within you is so caught off guard at the sight of Bob that you believe him.

The Void’s glee is palpable.

And then a voice cuts through the dark.

“Enough”

Bob.

Your Bob.

He stands at the edge of the nightmare, his eyes are blown open and wild, his hands clenched like he’s holding up the weight of the world

The midnight world suddenly splinters.

You wake up and the room is shaking, no wait, the room isnt shaking its you.

Bob’s crouched in front of you, his face concerned and he cradles your head in his arms “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your pain and fear is so strong you feel like you could collapse. You want to run away and scream, call out to everyone to take you away and lock you up somewhere that it couldn’t find you.

But you don’t dwell on those feelings, you know Bob, he must be devestated that he pulled you into the Void.

Your tone is soft as you push youself up “Hey, hey look at me. It wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know the big guy would come out so quickly.”

“But I let him hurt you-”

You stop him “Don’t, don’t say anything. Look we need to take you to the med bay now j-just don’t say anything please, just don’t.”

Bob stares at you—hurt, guilty, devastated—but he doesn’t protest.

You both hobble down to the med bay in silence and you cant help but wonder if he remembered what you both had been speaking about before or your hidden shame.

You really hope he hadn’t.

You’d called Yelena down on your way, telling her the other guy had come out to play for a bit and Bob was shaken up. She’d raced down as quickly as she could to relieve you of your babysitting duty.

Outside of the med bay, you speak to her in hushed tones while balancing the entire weight of your body on her, exhaustion setting in.

“You ok?” she strokes your hair as you tremble.

“Yeah I just, I need sleep.” she doesn’t press you for answers and you’re grateful. One small kiss to her head and you decide you’re ready to leave.

You glance back at Bob through the door, he’s already looking at you, pensive. You smile reassuringly and can visibly see his shoulders slump down in relief.

You leave but not after throwing another gummy smile and a thumbs up at the man.

The morning comes too soon, you’re still upset from the events of the night, but that doesn’t mean you can just shirk your responsibilities.

You’re packed and out the door before the sun fully rises, meeting John and Alexei downstairs. They don’t ask why your hands won’t stop shaking or why your eyes are so bloodshot.

As the engines hum to life, you glance back at the Tower one last time.

Project Get Over Bob was a complete bust.

Hey guys, hope that this chapter has you guy’s as excited as I am to continue on to the final part of this fic! Sorry for not adding a taglist to this fic but there were a lot of replies and I didn’t think I could get through them!

If you have any tips for fic writing pls follow me I’m always looking to improve.

I hope the writing style isn’t too different, I’m still trying to find my style and footing when it comes to this stuff!

The next chapter will be filled with plenty of comfort and maybe something a bit cheekier if you catch my drift!

[muli-wam]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro did not do relationships.

"Can I stay the night? I-" the brunette he was 8 inches deep in just a few moments ago would say.

Toji didn't even know her name. He just let out a mocking chuckle and told her to get out as he did pushups on the floor next to the bed.

"I'll call you an uber," he would say.

She would look at him in disbelief before scoffing and storming out with disheveled hair and clothes.

This was clockwork.

His routine consisted of boxing, flirting, fucking, and then more boxing.

He wasn't going to change that for some girl.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro didn't go on dates, he didn't even look the woman in the eyes while fucking.

He has 3 strict rules for him and his hookups: No talking, no eye contact, and no kissing on the lips. (And always use condoms because the last thing Toji wanted was a child).

Toji doesn't think his rules are extreme, but others around him like to think so.

He's not a dick kinda, he just didn't like relationships. Whether that was romantic, or platonic.

They made him too vulnerable, and Toji didn't like let people get too close in fear of them taking advantage of him.

That's why he loved boxing. He didn't have to play on a team, which meant he didn't have to get along with anyone. People feared him, they kissed the floor he walked on—and he got to punch people so it was a win-win.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was content with living life in solitude.

But his desire for peace and eternal loneliness didn't make him some kind of humble, down to earth man.

No, Toji thrived off praise. He got off on people telling him how much they loved him, how much they worshipped him.

He loved going out in public in broad daylight where everyone could see the amazing Toji Fushiguro, even though Shiu, his manager, told him not to.

He loved the way people would crowd him, asking for pictures and autographs. He loved when girls would pull down the collar of their shirts so he could sign their upper boob and later get it tattooed.

"I'm not a perv," Toji would say defensively.

"But you are..." Shiu would reply, giving him an accusatory look.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro loved attention.

So, you could imagine his surprise when he sees a cute girl at the grocery store, taking time out of his day to come up to you, willfully giving you the God-given opportunity to meet THE Toji Fushiguro, just for you to give him a look of annoyance and walk away.

Come again???

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was pissed the fuck off.

But, since he's such a good person, he let that one slide and decided to give you a second chance.

"C'mon doll, you really gonna do me like that?" He purrs.

"Do you like what, exactly?" You sigh, not even looking at him, instead continuing to inspect which peaches to buy, afraid they would instantly go bad the moment you walk out the store.

"Playing hard to get?" He takes the peach out of your hand and brings it up to his lips, taking a large bite—making it wayyy more sexual than it needed to be—letting the juice drip down his wrist before bringing his head down and licking it all up.

"Gross, you know how many people touched that?" You say with a look of disgust.

He decided to ignore your comment because 1.) You are progressively bruising his ego with every breath you take, and 2.) He just ate an unwashed peach from the grocery store that may or may not have an undiscovered bacteria on it which may or may not kill him.

"Look, you dont need to act all uninterested to 'impress me'. I'll sign your tits and leave."

Now you were the one pissed off because who does he think he is?

This hot, muscly, meat sack walks in here like he owns the place, tries to flirt with you like some creep, and then has the audacity to offer to sign your tits?

What do you do?

You slap him.

"Who do you even think you are?" You snapped.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro doesn't hit women. His mother always taught him that no matter how angry he got, no matter how much someone pushed him, to never lay his hands on a girl. Because that's the gentlemanly thing to do.

Sure, his mom taught him dozens of other 'gentlemanly' acts. Most of which he threw out the window, stomped on, and set on fire. But that one always stuck.

Except for right now.

Right now, Toji wanted to strangle you because you just slapped him.

Do you even know who he is?

Obviously fucking not because you just asked him, and that pissed Toji off even more.

Also the fact that you just publicly humiliated him, in front of at least 20 people recording, which would then end up on the entire internet for everyone to see 'The Girl Who Slapped Toji Fushiguro, The Most Feared Boxer in All of Japan.'

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say because he's never been in such a situation.

People always shriveled up and hid out of fear when he entered a room. Toji's presence alone makes children scream and hide behind their parents.

But you didn't do that.

You slapped him.

And it kinda turned him on.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro studied your angry expression. The way your eyebrows furrowed, how your nostrils flaired with every heavy breath you took, your anger radiating off of you, making those around you—even Toji—nervous.

His cheek tingled, not because the slap hurt, it was pretty weak in his opinion, but because your hands were so soft and Toji wondered how they would feel caressing his face as he made you fall apart under him.

This feeling you gave him was foreign, and he craved for more.

He craved you.

"Are you single?" He suddenly asks.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro flinches, preparing for another slap from you when he sees your expression go blank. Unreadable.

Getting killed by a pretty girl wouldn't be such a bad way to go out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: Idk what beef I have with Toji rn but hes kinda an asshole in this AU. I SWEAR THERE WILL BE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT reader is gna change Toji for the better ☺️👍🏼

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @moncher-ire @sugarphoric @blitziwitch @starmapz @astrasworldsblog @yamadramallamaqueen @emi311 @cam-ilaaaa @naammiii @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @saitamaswifey @xylov @suckkuna @gringardsreagent @coralbae @makeitrainonsomehoes @onecrafterr @cccccccccccleo @kentoslvr @p1nkfl0wers @aldebrana @aiicpansion @seulbeomie @a1zennn @posttraumaticscribblez @aldebrana @satorupied @shigamiryuk

@indiewritesxoxo @blueemochii @gojoswaterbottle @pelicanpizza @shinrjj @leave-rae-alone @simp-for-wanderer @quinny23 @flowerpot113 @universal-s1ut @ifiwereabug @luluminati @blobbyblogsdraws @s-1-xx @firesgod @candy-s72 @hypomaniac-oneirataxia @spam-and-eggs @tojiscvmdumpster @g3n3v13v33 @amp-444

@ll0rona @kailovsun @aksqui @criimsonmoth @mysticfluffyness @wisepeachwitch @bowlofshleep @sharkubi @bol0-de-morang0 @takuma-talkz @riahlynn-102 @fushiguroooozzz @ehcilhc @colorcode

@mimiluvzu2 @tojisblkwife @bokotarou @nana1344 @idleviewer @itsinherited @yourfavgurls-blog @shibataimu @erenspersonalwh0re @zzbloody-animezz @emoedgylord @zzz-auds @shigamiryuk

[buckysleftbicep]

who did this to you? 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x abused!fem!reader

warnings: mentions of abuse, domestic violence (not committed by bucky!) mentions of trauma, themes of fear and recovery (please read the warnings)

summary: bucky notices the bruises before you ever say a word. as the truth unravels, he steps in—not just to protect you, he makes sure you're never hurt again.

word count: 5.3k (i went a little overboard)

author's note: i have been wanting to write this for quite a while, and i'm glad i did. enjoy my loves, your feedback and thoughts are always appreciated!

It started small.

A shift in the way you smiled—no longer bright and easy, but tight-lipped and fleeting, like you were trying to convince yourself it still came naturally. A hesitation in your laughter, once the sweetest sound in the Watchtower’s echoing corridors, now muffled, forced, or absent altogether.

The others chalked it up to stress. Missions have been tense lately. The team didn’t exactly operate in peacetime.

But Bucky…Bucky saw more.

You were the team’s secretary. The one constant in a whirlwind of chaos. Efficient, organised, always one step ahead of everyone else. You had memorised every operative’s dietary needs before the kitchen staff had.

You knew how to read between lines of mission reports, handle fallouts with the media, and you were the only person Yelena trusted to refill her coffee exactly right. Your desk, tucked near the central hub, was where people came to decompress, vent, even smile.

You made things work. You made the team work.

You were the light that steadied them all.

But lately… that light had gone out.

Bucky noticed first. He always did. Watching people wasn’t just habit—it was an instinct. A soldier’s reflex, sharpened by a lifetime of reading danger in the twitch of a hand or the flicker of a glance.

He noticed how your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear into yourself, or how your arms folded across your stomach, elbows tucked in tight as if they were armour.

You flinched when anyone passed too closely behind your chair. You stopped walking through the halls with your usual spring—started hugging the walls, choosing longer routes that avoided high-traffic zones.

When Yelena clapped a hand to your shoulder in greeting, a simple, affectionate gesture—your entire body jolted like you’d been hit. Not just startled. 

Terrified.

The room had gone quiet at that moment. Even Alexei paused, a half-eaten sandwich frozen in his hand. Ava had gone still beside the mission board, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You recovered too quickly. Smiled too fast. “Sorry, nerves,” you’d said, brushing it off, grabbing the nearest file and practically sprinting from the room. But Bucky had already seen too much.

And then the bruises.

They started subtly. Shadows beneath the cuff of your blouse that could be passed off as bad sleep, maybe a knock against a desk corner.

You were clumsy sometimes—everyone knew that. A walking hurricane in heels, Yelena liked to tease. You once tripped over your own shoelaces in front of Val, and no one had let you live it down for a week.

But these weren’t accidents.

There was a splotch of purple just visible beneath your collarbone, dark and irregular. Faint, yellowing fingerprints on your wrist that looked like they were trying to fade, but kept stubbornly coming back.

A raw, angry mark that peeked out from your hairline one morning, like someone had gripped your jaw too hard—someone tall enough, big enough to loom over you, strong enough to leave a handprint in their wake.

Bucky saw that one when you bent down to pick up a report you’d dropped. Your blouse’s collar dipped slightly, just enough to reveal a line of bruising that trailed from your neck toward your shoulder like a hand had wrapped around you and squeezed.

His hand clenched into a fist on instinct.

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew better. But he watched. Quietly, intensely. Not just because he cared, but because something inside him roared with the need to protect you, something deep and territorial and dangerous.

The same thing that made him stare holes into the security cameras when you left the compound for lunch, or that made him scan every incoming message with a new, sharpened edge.

He began checking your schedule.

Not overtly. Just… looking. Noting when you left the compound. Who signed you out. When you came back, and what your face looked like afterward.

You used to return from errands with little smiles and tiny stories—“The deli guy gave me an extra pickle today,” or “Some lady on the street said I had pretty earrings.” But lately, you came back quieter. Shoulders tighter. And you always avoided his eyes.

One afternoon, he asked you if you were okay.

You smiled—again, that damn smile. So polite, so practiced. 

“Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for asking Bucky”

But being tired didn’t leave marks on someone’s throat.

And when you walked away, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway and felt something cold curl in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew pain. He’d lived it. Breathed it. Worn it like a second skin. But there was something worse about watching you endure it.

Something far more dangerous.

And whoever had hurt you?

They’d just reminded him exactly what he was willing to protect.

Still, Bucky didn’t act rashly. He waited. Watched. Gathered more than just bruises and broken glances. He needed to be sure—of what you were dealing with, of who was doing this to you, of how to approach without sending you further into yourself.

The wrong move could make you shut down entirely. He knew trauma didn’t unravel with questions—it needed patience. 

Stillness. Safety.

So he waited until the Watchtower cleared out for the evening.

The others had trickled out one by one—Yelena dragging Alexei into a sparring match he didn’t ask for, Ava and John disappearing into the training room, Val locked in her office for a late-night debrief.

The corridors fell quiet, fluorescent lights humming low overhead. Bucky lingered near your office, watching the shadows stretch along the floor, the door slightly ajar with the warm glow of your desk lamp spilling out into the hall.

You were still there. Of course you were.

You always stay late now.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into your office once the others had gone.

You didn’t jump—but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. How your fingers paused on the keyboard, curling slightly as if preparing for something.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen for a moment too long, and when you did glance up, they were wide and glassy with that familiar, haunted look.

The one he recognised too well.

The one he used to see in the mirror.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice stayed quiet, gentle—like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. He stood just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, posture non-threatening but steady. He wouldn’t crowd you. He wouldn’t touch you. But the one thing he wouldn’t do is walk away.

You swallowed, throat tight, and gave a small nod.

“Sure.”

But the word was fragile. Like it had been stitched together with effort.

He crossed the room slowly, pulling the door shut behind him—not all the way, just enough to give the illusion of privacy without making you feel trapped. Then he moved to the chair across from your desk and sat, leaving space between you. Letting you decide what came next.

You glanced back at your screen, like you were searching for a reason to stay distracted. Like if you just kept typing, none of this would be real. But your hands didn’t move.

He waited a beat, then spoke, low and careful. “I’ve been noticing some things.”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… I’m worried about you doll”

Your shoulders tensed again. That flinch. That tell. He saw it before you could mask it. And when your arms folded across your stomach, hiding your bruised wrist, he knew.

You were protecting yourself from more than just a conversation.

“I know something’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t need the details if you’re not ready. But I need you to know that… you don’t have to do this alone.”

Still, silence. But your eyes were starting to shine, tears gathering at the corners as you stared down at your keyboard like it held all the answers.

“You’ve been flinching at every touch,” he went on, his voice nearly breaking. “You don’t smile anymore. You avoid everyone like they’re gonna hurt you. And those bruises—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked as the word came out, sharp and desperate.

Bucky’s breath caught. But he didn’t move. “Okay,” he said immediately. “I won’t push. I swear.”

The silence that followed was thick—trembling between confession and collapse.

And then your lip quivered. You shook your head once. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach him. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

Bucky leaned forward, slowly, carefully. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Your chin trembled. “I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone’s got their shit. Missions. Scars. Who wants to hear about the secretary who made the mistake of falling for the wrong guy?”

His jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might crack a molar. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer.

But your silence was answer enough.

His tone darkened, low and steady like steel cooled in ice. “Tell me who put their hands on you.”

You shook your head again, fast this time, panic blooming across your features. “Bucky—don’t. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He stood up, jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The chair scraped quietly behind him, but he didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there, vibrating with barely contained rage.

But it wasn’t at you.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough now, fighting to stay gentle. “But you have to let me help.”

Your eyes met his cerulean irises then. And something inside you cracked.

Because he didn’t look at you with pity.

He looked at you like you mattered. Like your pain mattered. Like he saw you—really saw you—and it didn’t make him walk away.

And something about the way he said it, like a lifeline broke you.

You told him everything.

From the first time it happened, when your ex shoved you against a wall during an argument over a text message. To the second time, when he slapped you so hard your lip split open. The cycle became normal. You had started covering up bruises like second nature, lying to your friends, flinching at shadows.

Two nights ago, he’d come home drunk, angry. He dragged you by your hair into the bedroom, wrapped a hand too tight around your neck, and left purple thumbprints beneath your jaw.

You had to call in sick the next day. Told Val it was the flu. She didn’t question it.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks, but Bucky never looked away. His face was tight with rage, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth. His metal hand had curled into a fist again, knuckles whitening where they met synthetic plating.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” you croaked, your hand reaching to grip his wrist. “Just… just get me out of there.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

He helped you out of the office, holding your arm with such care, like you might shatter if he used too much strength. He led you to his motorcycle, the matte black vehicle parked beside the Watchtower’s bay doors.

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

He handed you his helmet and said, “You’re safe with me.”

And you believed him.

The wind was sharp against your face, your arms clinging around his waist as he drove through the dusky streets toward your apartment. Your heart thundered the entire ride—not from fear of falling, but from the feeling of escape.

At your place, you let Bucky in and stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys shaking in your hands.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

You walked numbly toward your bedroom and began pulling a small duffel from the closet. Bucky followed, surveying the apartment with quiet calculation.

The broken picture frame on the floor. The hole punched in the hallway drywall. The cracked phone screen beside your bed.

You gathered clothes, toiletries, your journal, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bucky packed in silence, folding your shirts neatly, rolling your socks with care.

When you turned to get your toothbrush, your hands were trembling too badly to hold it.

“I can’t…” you whispered, finally falling apart.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not going back there. I won’t let you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, your body wracked with grief and relief all at once. For the first time in years, you believed it. 

You were leaving.

Bucky had decided to take you to his apartment, given how late it was—and how you didn’t want the rest of the team knowing about any of this. You couldn’t bear their questions or the way they might look at you differently if they knew the truth. What you needed right now wasn’t a spotlight—it was safety.

And Bucky, somehow, had understood that without you ever having to say a word.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, it felt like a sanctuary: minimalistic but lived-in, with dark wood furniture, shelves lined with old books, framed black-and-white photos, a few of them being Steve's, and soft lighting that bathed the space in warm, golden hues.

There were blankets folded over the back of his couch, plants that looked surprisingly healthy, and a record player in the corner with a small stack of vinyls beside it. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—warm, masculine, grounding.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky said gently, “and the guest room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve.

He handed you a folded pile of clothes—one of his blue Henley shirts and a pair of grey boxer briefs that would sit loosely on your frame.

“You can sleep in these,” he said. “I’ll set up fresh towels, and if you need anything—anything—you come get me.”

You changed in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. The bruises on your neck looked even more vibrant in the soft light. You touched them lightly, then pulled Bucky’s shirt over your head. It was warm from his hands, and it smelled like cedar and something unmistakably him.

You sank into the bed that night with clean sheets, the window cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air. Bucky’s home felt quiet in a way yours never had. Not silent from tension—but peaceful. The kind of quiet that comes with safety.

You curled into the soft mattress, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him, and for the first time in two years, you slept without fear.

Safe. Protected. Free.

You woke up with a gasp.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to you like cobwebs—suffocating and sticky. Flashes of fists in the dark. That voice slithering in your ear, venomous and cruel. The oppressive weight on your chest, the cold dread of being trapped with no way out.

Your heart thundered, breath tearing in and out of your lungs like you were still running, still being chased. Your skin was damp with sweat, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you pushed the covers away and bolted upright in bed.

The room swam around you—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp outside, walls painted in shadow. The silence rang too loud.

You couldn’t stay.

Before you even registered the movement, your bare feet found the cool hardwood floor, each step down the hallway echoing softly. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

Bucky’s door was cracked open.

He was awake. Sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, his metal hand cradling the back of his neck like it ached. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. The soft light from the city cast silver lines across the sharp angles of his face, tracing the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow.

Your voice trembled, more breath than sound. “I had a nightmare.”

His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto yours. The shift was instant—soldier to protector. In two strides, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

His hands came to your shoulders—not forceful, just present. Anchoring. His touch was warm and steady, and it sent a tremor through you that wasn’t from fear this time, but release. Like your body finally allowed itself to feel how shaken you were.

Your lip quivered. “Can I stay?”

He nodded before you even finished the question. “Always.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bed welcomed you like a long-lost memory—soft sheets, a comforting dip in the mattress, the faint scent of his soap clinging to the pillow.

You curled into the center of it, small and tentative, feeling like a ghost of yourself. Like you might disappear if the shadows swallowed you up again.

Bucky moved with care. He didn’t rush. He pulled the blanket up over your trembling frame, tucking it gently around your shoulders. Then he slid into the bed behind you, close but not suffocating, the heat of him already beginning to thaw something frozen inside you.

His arm hovered behind you for a moment. He didn’t assume. Didn’t take. Just waited.

When you shifted ever so slightly—just enough for your back to press lightly against his chest, his arm came around you. A quiet, protective barrier. His metal fingers splayed carefully against your stomach, grounding you in the here and now.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes slipping shut for the first time all night. The tension in your body began to unwind, thread by thread. His scent, clean and faintly earthy filled your nose, mingling with the sound of his heartbeat against your spine and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And then he whispered it, his voice barely brushing your ear, soft and sure and steady.

“I’ve got you.”

The words sank into your skin like warmth, like truth. No promises he couldn’t keep. No hollow reassurances. Just a vow, solid and unspoken, in the way he held you like you were something worth protecting.

You blinked slowly, a tear slipping free and soaking silently into the pillow.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you believed it.

You were safe.

Not because the nightmares were gone—but because Bucky was here when they came.

The morning sun filtered gently through the blinds of Bucky’s apartment, casting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floors.

For the first time in over a year, you hadn’t woken up with your heart pounding in fear. No yelling, no slamming doors. Just the subtle hum of city life beyond the window, and the distant sizzle of bacon in a skillet.

You padded out of the bedroom in Bucky’s oversized shirt and boxers, clutching the sleeves around your palms. The faint scent of him lingered in the fabric—cedar-wood, leather, and something warm, like late summer.

Bucky stood by the stove, his hair damp from a quick shower, grey T-shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders. When he heard your footsteps, he turned slightly and gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nodded, grateful, eyes stinging. It was in the little things—the way he slid a cup of coffee toward you without asking how you liked it, because he already remembered. 

Later that day, the team found out.

Yelena had noticed first. She cornered Bucky in the Watchtower’s armoury after morning briefings. “What’s going on with (y/n)?” she demanded, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She barely said five words. She jumped when Alexei dropped his water bottle. I know bruises when I see them.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw tightening. But when Yelena added, softer this time, “I care about her too,” he gave her the truth.

Word spread in a ripple. Quiet, but powerful. By the end of the day, the team was different.

It started with your phone. You were sorting through mission reports in the comms room when it buzzed beside you, and you flinched hard enough to drop a pen because without looking, you already knew who it was. Him.

John, usually, cocky caught the look on your face and immediately picked the phone up himself.

“Give me your passcode,” he said steadily.

You hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if this asshole’s still texting you, I’m blocking him. And if he’s tracking you, we’re disabling it right now.”

You blinked at him, lip trembling. John just held your gaze, patient. Protective.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Ten minutes later, your ex was blocked. His number, email—gone. John handed the phone back like it weighed nothing, but you knew it had been a thousand-pound chain.

Bob, quiet and sweet, began programming something on the side—a digital firewall. One you didn't even ask for, but he gave it to you anyway.

“If he tries anything online, you’ll be notified. But he won’t get through. I made sure of it.”

You could’ve cried.

Ava began walking with you more often. No words. Just always there—on your way to the labs, when you stopped by the kitchen, even when you headed out to grab lunch across the street.

“I know what it’s like,” she said one day while the two of you sat on a park bench eating sandwiches. “To feel hunted.”

You looked at her, stunned. Her face was unreadable, but her hand brushed yours for a moment, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then there was Alexei. Loud, boisterous, intimidating. He walked into the common area one afternoon with three grocery bags in hand and plopped them dramatically onto the table.

“You like those little orange cracker fish?” he boomed showing you the goldfish crackers he had gotten. “I bought five bags. And some juice. Juice is important.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t—”

“Shush little one,” he said, winking. “You part of us. Thunderbolts always feed Thunderbolts.”

Your laugh broke out before you could stop it. It felt foreign. Strange. 

But real.

Alexei beamed like he’d won a medal.

Slowly but surely, the team wrapped you in something new. Something stronger than fear. Stronger than pain.

When you needed to go to the mall for more clothes—things that weren’t tainted with memories—Yelena and Bob went with you.

Yelena stuck close to your side, pretending to be indifferent but always scanning the crowd. Bob carried all the bags with a goofy grin. He even helped pick out a new hoodie. It was soft and warm and maroon.

“You should feel safe in your skin,” Yelena said simply, handing you a matching beanie. “Even if you’re still growing into it.”

Back at the Watchtower, life began to feel... lighter.

You started laughing again. At Alexei's terrible jokes, at Yelena’s savage sarcasm, at Bob’s quiet mutterings when tech didn’t work. Even John, in all his arrogance, could make you smile.

There was a movie night every Friday now and Bucky always sat next to you, sometimes with a pillow between you both to give space, other times with his shoulder a solid warmth at your side. You’d found yourself leaning into him more. Not because you had to. But because it felt right.

And he never pushed. Never demanded. Just let you exist next to him. Sometimes he’d hand you a blanket without saying a word. Sometimes he’d offer half his popcorn. Sometimes, his fingers would brush yours, warm and careful, and linger just a second longer than necessary.

You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more.

One day, Ava caught you humming in the hallway, arms full of supplies. She stopped in her tracks.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re glowing,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I—I am?”

She gave a rare, small smile. “Like someone who remembers what sunlight feels like.”

One night, after Yelena dropped you off, you returned to the apartment Bucky always insisted was open to you. You let yourself in with the spare key. It was late, and he was half-asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. He stirred when you closed the door.

“You okay sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said.

He nodded, eyes drifting shut again.

You sat beside him, curling your legs up, and rested your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just reached for the blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it gently over you both.

It was the safest you’d ever felt.

It had started out as a good night.

One of those rare moments where the city lights felt warm rather than harsh, where laughter didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

The team had dragged you out—gently, persistently, lovingly.

“C’mon,” Yelena had said, slinging her arm over your shoulder. “Burgers, milkshakes, greasy fries. We deserve it. You deserve it.”

You hesitated. It had been a while since you went to any public diner. Too many memories. Too many shadows. Too much risk of seeing him.

But tonight? You nodded. Just once. Just enough.

The diner was loud with neon buzz and the clatter of plates, the kind of classic joint with red booths and checkered floors. Bucky slid into the booth beside you while Yelena and John sat across. Bob and Ava took the seats at the edge, Alexei immediately requesting the biggest burger they had.

Jokes flew easily. John was ranting about ketchup crimes. Yelena argued that mayonnaise was the superior condiment. Bob kept trying to order fries but the waitress only seemed to hear Alexei’s booming voice.

You were laughing. Honest, soft laughter that made your chest ache.

Then the door jingled. And just like that, the warmth bled from the room. Laughter dimmed. The sizzle of the grill and clatter of dishes became distant, muffled by the sudden roar of blood in your ears.

Bucky stilled beside you.

Your ex stood in the doorway, flanked by two men you didn’t recognise—thick-necked, sneering types with clenched fists and hooded eyes. But it was him you saw. Him, with that awful smirk, like nothing had changed.

Like he still owned the air you breathed.

Bucky noticed the way your body tensed, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Hey—”

Your ex’s eyes landed on you, and he stepped forward, raising his voice.

“Well, look who it is. Didn’t think you’d crawl this far downtown. Guess word spreads when you’re spreading your legs for every man in New York now, huh?”

The sound of the booth creaking was the only warning before Bucky stood.

Yelena’s fork clattered onto her plate.

John was on his feet in seconds, positioning himself directly between you and your ex.

“Take that back,” Bucky growled.

Your ex only sneered, moving closer. “What, you gonna fight me in front of your new playgroup? Cute. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier was into charity cases.”

You flinched.

Bucky didn’t.

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky said, low and lethal.

Your ex chuckled, but there was unease in his posture now. “What? You mean the bruises? Bitch liked it rough. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Yelena stood up behind John, her face carved in steel. “The next time you touch her,” she said flatly, “will be the last time you have hands.”

Your ex stepped forward as if to challenge, but John didn’t move an inch. “Try it,” he warned. “Give me a reason.”

You saw it—the twitch in your ex’s jaw, the way he coiled his fist. He swung at Bucky.

But Bucky didn’t just dodge. He caught the punch mid-air.

With his metal hand.

The crunch of bone was audible and a gasp ran through the diner.

Before anyone could react, Bucky gripped your ex by the front of his jacket, lifting him clean off the floor. The metal arm locked around his throat with frightening precision. The air stilled. Your ex's feet dangled.

“If you ever look at her again,” Bucky snarled, voice sharp and shaking with rage, “if you so much as breathe in her goddamn direction—I will rip your spine out and hang it from the Watchtower gates.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was full of restrained fury. Of violence barely held back. His eyes had darkened, steel-gray and burning.

Your ex gurgled, his hands clawing at Bucky’s grip.

“Do you understand me?”

A choked nod.

Bucky dropped him like trash.

Alexei stepped forward then, looming over the two henchmen. “You want to try luck?” he asked them casually. “I haven’t punch anything in weeks.”

The men looked at each other, then down at your ex, now coughing on the floor. They backed away.

“You’re not worth it,” one muttered, and the other practically dragged your ex toward the exit.

Your heart was thundering. Your breath short.

Bob slipped into the seat beside you. Ava stood near the door, eyes scanning the street for any lingering threat.

Bucky turned to you, jaw tight, shoulders still trembling with adrenaline. But when he looked at you, his expression softened immediately.

He crouched in front of you, hands open. “You okay?”

You nodded shakily, tears welling.

Yelena handed you a napkin. “He’s gone,” she said quietly. “He’s never coming near you again.”

John was still standing like a human shield, arms crossed.

And Bucky... Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand. It was warm, comforting, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped.

“He doesn’t get to touch you. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned into him, trembling.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, barely audible.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, even in the shattered remains of what should have been a peaceful night, you were wrapped in a shield stronger than steel.

You had them.

You had him.

You were safe.

You didn’t speak on the way home.

No one made you.

Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your thigh—anchoring, grounding. The rest of the team took a second vehicle, giving you space. After what happened, you needed it.

You stared out the window, watching the neon blur into streaks of yellow and red, feeling like you were floating somewhere outside yourself. Somewhere between fear and relief.

The silence between you and Bucky wasn’t heavy—it was steady. Like the calm after a storm. Like quiet waves still curling back from the shore.

When he parked outside the compound, he turned to you slowly.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t ask again. Just took your hand gently, led you through the compound, through the hallways, up the stairs. When you reached your room, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I stay?”

You nodded.

Inside, the room felt untouched by the chaos of earlier. Soft lamplight, a rumpled blanket on your bed. Familiar, safe.

You kicked your shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. Bucky crouched in front of you again, like at the diner, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

“But he’s never going to get to you again. I won’t let him. None of us will.”

You looked at him. The way his eyes held yours, soft but strong. The way his presence wrapped around you like armor. The way his touch was always careful, like you were something breakable but worth protecting.

And then you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Bucky leaned forward. Pressed his forehead gently to yours.

“You don’t have to. Not right away. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll fight it together.”

You closed your eyes.

And when he climbed into bed beside you, when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you against the steady thump of his heart, you believed him.

Not because the fear was gone.

But because for the first time in so long, you weren’t carrying it alone.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Whispered something you didn’t catch—but it didn’t matter.

It sounded like safety.

It felt like home.

a/n: this fic is one i hold close, because i have experienced abuse/dv in my previous relationship, and i had no idea how to leave, and writing this helped, a lot. i do hope that every person that is trapped in this cycle will find their bucky—someone who makes them feel safe and loved. i am grateful i found mine. if you're a victim or know someone who is struggling, please don't be afraid to seek for help. i promise it does get better once you leave. (google dv helpline, your country's hotline should appear)

[webslinger-holland]

Busy Woman | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts

Summary: She's always busy and he thinks she doesn't notice him, but she does.

Warning: NSFW smut 18+ minors DNI, mutual pining, slow burn, teasing and flirting, sexual tension and eventual smut, mentions of nudity, some language, fem!receiving, praise, unprotected sex, p in v, just saying...I've warned you, listened to too much Sabrina Carpenter and got inspired

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9 k

Type: Oneshot

One thing was certain: Bob Reynolds was not a morning person. He hated seeing the early sunlight leaking through the curtains and dreaded getting out of bed every morning. But he recently learned something...

She was a morning person.

And that's what got him out of bed in the morning.

Sometimes, Bob woke up before everyone else in the tower. He'd grab his keys and go out to a local coffee shop just to get her something. By the time Bob got back, he would find her hunched over the kitchen island, reading a debrief file, and enjoying a donut.

He was nervous to approach her; something about her made him not really know how to act around her. He timidly set down the special drink he ordered for her, sliding it closer to her and retracting his hand quickly as if he feared she'd bite him like a wild animal.

Very slowly, Y/n tore her gaze away from the file in front of her and to the plastic to-go cup of coffee in front of her. Her eyes drifted upwards until they found the socially awkward boy standing in front of her.

“Did you get up early just to bring me this?” She knew. Of course she knew. She always knows.

“I was already up,” Bob mumbled, which was a lie. A huge lie. He’d set three alarms.

Accepting the drink, Y/n kept her gaze locked on him and was curious if he'd break under the pressure. “That right?”

He nodded too quickly and avoided her eyes as if they were burning. “Yeah. I— uh— I like walking in the morning.”

She hummed and glanced back down at the file. She brought the drink to her lips. “You didn’t poison this, did you?” she asked casually, as if it were a normal thing to say before sunrise.

Bob shook his head innocently.

"Good," Y/n smiled at him appreciatively. The look alone caused him to blush and his heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“I—It’s a caramel macchiato!” Bob blurted, louder than he meant to. He was just desperate to keep her attention on him. She looked back up at him with the tiniest smile on her face. He faltered under her watch. "W—With an extra shot...of...espresso."

"Is it just a coincidence that you know my coffee order?" Y/n wondered curiously.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. “You… mentioned it once.”

That got a smile out of her—a small one, but a real one. One that made his heart leap so high.

She eventually redirected her attention back down to the file like nothing serious happened. Bob could feel the heat rising in his face. He wanted to say something else, anything, but his mind was just white noise. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck—a nervous habit, one he was sure she’d noticed by now. Then Bucky entered the room.

“There he is,” Bucky announced with an all knowing smirk, swiftly moving through the kitchen. “You're up early today. Out fetching coffee again?”

Bob groaned softly and backed away from the counter.

“You fetch hers too?” Bucky glanced between them, then grinned. “Of course you did.”

She didn’t say anything—just kept reading, totally unfazed. And Bob stared at Bucky unamused.

"You didn't bring us back anything?" Bucky looked offended and searched around as if expecting his coffee order to just magically appear.

This was something that Bob was teased about constantly by the team because all of them knew about the crush he harbored on her. He ultimately didn't want to have to explain his reasons to Bucky of all people, so he opted to leave the room.

But as Bob turned to leave, she glanced up again. Not with a smile this time, but with a thoughtful sort of look.

Like she was waiting.

The rest of the team was scattered around the base—except Bob, who was just walking and hoping he'd find something to get his attention. He didn't have a real destination, but he might have secretly hoped he'd run into her in the process.

Spotting her open bedroom door just ahead, Bob straightened his back in posture. He walked past her room, glanced inside, and continued on. Then he froze like he’d hit a wall when he realized what he just witnessed.

The lights were soft, the window cracked open. A breeze fluttered the curtains slightly. And there she was—laying on her bed, reading a book. Bare legs behind her and feet hanging over her back given that she was on her stomach. She looked completely at ease.

Just like bees to honey, Bob did a double take and backed up—slowly, quietly—just to get another glimpse of her laying there. He wasn’t even being subtle about it.

Hovering in the doorway, Bob awkwardly placed his hand on the doorframe. She was reading with her head propped on her hand, glasses sliding slightly down her nose. She looked so relaxed; she hadn’t noticed him at all.

Which, for some reason, made him ache a little.

“Hey,” he offered, voice hoarse and soft.

She glanced up, then smiled a little when she saw him. “Hey, Bob.”

He stared for one second too long. And then another. The silence stretched between them like taut wire.

“Did you need something?” she asked, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

"Yes—I mean no. I was just—passing by." His voice cracked. He cleared it and stood straighter. “I was, uh… going somewhere.”

"Where?" Y/n pressed.

Bob blinked, fiddling nervously. “Somewhere... not here.”

She smiled—lazy, amused. "Well. I wouldn't want to stop you from your very important mission."

His mouth opened and then closed. The gears in his head were grinding so hard, he could practically hear the smoke. She was doing that thing again—talking to him like she knew. Like he was a deer and she was just waiting to see if he’d bolt.

"R—Right," Bob's words caught up with his thoughts. He blinked twice and awkwardly shuffled away from the door. "Guess I'll get out of your hair then."

Her gaze found the page she left off on, still unfazed. "Have fun."

As Bob disappeared down the hallway, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Y/n let a small smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t look up from her book, but she didn’t keep reading either.

About once a week, Alexei prided himself in making a big hearty breakfast just for the boys with claims of them needing to spend time together as men. He served every kind of protein imaginable: bacon, sausage, eggs, ham, even steak once. He’d sometimes take requests—except waffles.

Bob had asked for them once.

Alexei had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Waffles are for children and men who fear chewing. I make you meat instead.”

And Bob obediently ate the ham served that day.

The three of them seated at the kitchen island. Bob sat with a fork in hand, picking at a pile of food he didn’t remember asking for and mindlessly thinking about her. Meanwhile, Walker was already halfway through his plate, Bucky was drinking a black coffee, and Alexei was flipping something massive in a cast iron pan over the stove like it owed him rent.

“Eat,” Alexei barked when Bob just poked at a sausage link. He promptly slapped two more onto his plate without asking. “You need more protein; women like men with muscle."

"She knows, guys,” Bob groaned, changing the subject. “She definitely knows.”

"Knows what?" Alexei glanced between John and Bucky like they'd left him out of a group chat. "I do not know. Who knows what?"

"Of course she knows," Bucky proceeded to lower his coffee. "You're not exactly subtle about it—bringing her coffee, walking past her room, turning into a tomato every time she so much as breathes in your direction."

"Ah, you mean her," Alexei connected the dots because even he saw how he looked at her.

"He’s hopelessly in love with her, but won't say anything." Bucky announced.

“She’s too busy for me anyway,” Bob mumbled, shoulders hunched. “She’s got stuff going on. Important stuff.”

John snorted. “That’s your excuse now?”

“She’s literally everywhere,” Bob said, throwing up a hand. “Working out, reading briefings, sparring—like, I’m supposed to just waltz up and flirt while she’s in the middle of combat training?”

“You already do everything but flirt,” Bucky pointed out and John agreed. “You bring her coffee, open doors for her, wait for her to finish meetings just so you can walk the same direction."

Alexei grinned. “He is soft for her.”

"I’m not soft—" Bob sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “She doesn’t even notice me.”

“Oh, she notices,” John said with a smirk. “She’s just pretending not to, which is way worse.”

“I can’t just say something,” Bob muttered. “What if it ruins everything? What if she laughs at me?”

“She won't laugh," John said confidently.

"And we’re not judging," Bucky added. "We’ve all been there. Someone cold, deadly, completely out of your league—”

“Whose out of whose league?”

All heads snapped toward the hallway.

There she stood. In absolutely nothing, but a towel.

Her hair damp, held up loosely in a messy bun. Her skin flushed pink from the hot shower. Her body glistened in the light, littered with small specks of water still. The towel hugged her body like it had been custom-measured to torment Bob specifically—just enough to cover, far too little to handle.

No makeup. Barefoot. And utterly unbothered. Just looking the picture of innocence.

When Bob saw her, he could have sworn his soul left his body.

The room went dead silent.

She couldn't really read the room, just noticed four stunned, absolutely useless men just staring at her like she’d walked in wearing fire.

She raised a brow. “Did I… interrupt something?”

“Nope,” John said, way too fast. “Just guy talk. Carry on. Totally normal.”

“You’re… uh… wet,” Bob blurted, mortified instantly.

She looked down at herself, then back up, amused. “Yes, Bob. That’s generally what happens when you shower.”

He made a small, broken noise that might have been a whimper.

"Just carry on. I'm not even here," Y/n waved off. She moved across the room and made her way over to the refrigerator, oblivious to the sets of eyes that tracked her movements.

The towel swayed. Bob’s jaw tightened. His face went red, then pink, then red again. His hand subtly shifted under the table as he sat up straighter, panicking slightly.

Spotting her peach yogurt, Y/n bend forward just enough to reach the back. The towel hitching up just high enough to give any of them far too much hope.

Each of them react different.

While Bucky sported a wolfish grin, he didn’t even try to look away. His eyes lingered—appreciative, amused, and entirely unbothered by what was clearly a nuclear-level distraction. He leaned back in his chair like he was settling in for the best part of the morning.

His lips curved. He was definitely tempted to whistle.

“Damn,” he muttered with a low chuckle. “Morning just got a whole lot better.”

Walker was mid-bite when he saw her. One second he was chewing toast, the next—he choked so hard he had to thump his chest to recover. He reached for his mug like it was a tactical maneuver, taking a long, steadying sip of black coffee. His eyes shamelessly watched her every move.

Walker murmured under his breath, “Sweet mother of—"

Next, Alexei is the only one unbothered by her actions. Instead, he finds pleasure in watching the other's reactions, smiling wildly like he was enjoying his favorite show on tv.

“Is very fun to watch strong men crumble,” Alexei commented cheerfully, sipping from his own mug and enjoying every second of this.

Especially Bob's reaction. That’s when things got really good. Because Bob was gone.

Frozen. Stuck. Statuesque.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

“Ohmygod—” Bob choked, barely above a whisper. He slammed his eyes shut like he could unsee what had just happened. He tried to focus on his breathing.

He cursed under his breath like he was fighting to keep it all together.

He keeps telling himself in his head: “Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t—too late.”

Withdrawing from the fridge, Y/n successfully closed the door and spun around on the heels of her feet. She held up the yogurt cup and was handed a spoon by Alexei. Peeling back the foil and dipping the spoon into the yogurt, Y/n brought the spoon up to her mouth and savored the first bite.

Her gaze flicked across them casually, but then landed—lingered—on Bob.

Her brows knit slightly. “Something wrong?”

The others were no help at all. Because John was hiding a smirk behind his cup and Bucky watched the interaction with the widest, all-knowing smirk on his face. And all the while, Bob was struggling to breathe.

Bob finally managed something that resembled speech.

“N-No,” he croaked. “Nope. All good.”

She blinked. “You sure?”

Bob nodded. Too quickly. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. Totally normal morning. Nothing weird at all.”

“Okay.” She turned and walked off, towel swaying with every step like she was floating. Everyone's gazes trailed after her as if wanting to commit the image to memory. "If you need anything from me, just ask!"

They heard the door of her room shut softly. They huddled together to speak in harsh whispers.

"Why didn't you say anything to her?" Bucky spoke first.

“She was wearing a towel,” Bob whisper-yelled. “What was I supposed to do—confess my love while she’s practically naked?!?!”

John, still gripping his coffee like a lifeline, muttered, “I would’ve.”

Alexei shrugged. “You were supposed to suffer in silence. Like the rest of us.”

"Didn't you hear what she said?" Bucky brought their attention back and Bob looked confused like he'd missed something important. “She said if you need anything, just ask—that was an invitation,”

"What?" Bob asked, clearly not interpreting it the same way.

“She basically dared you to say something.” Bucky pointed out.

Bob groaned in frustration, dragging both hands over his face. Feeling like it was another missed opportunity. “But if I say something now, it’ll be weird."

“I don’t think she’s the one uncomfortable,” John said, not even pretending to hide his grin.

"That's what I'm saying! She knows, definitely knows. And it amuses her. She's messing with me," Bob threw his hands up in slight defeat.

"Ah, but you like it.” Bucky said flatly.

“…I do.” Bob confessed timidly.

"Just don't get too excited there, sunshine." John remarked. John’s gaze dropped—and Bob followed it, his stomach dropping.

And Bob immediately slapped his hands on the table, desperate to block any view of his pants. He felt his face turning pure crimson in color; the others only chuckling in amusement.

The base was mostly quiet in the evening. The lights were dimmed and the place had a soft hum from something far off like white noise in the background. Everyone just about in for the night.

All except Bob who found himself wandering the dark hallways aimlessly. He slowed down as he neared her open door, being curious about why it was still open this late. Peering inside, Bob found her sitting on her bed with legs curled beneath her. She absentmindedly stared out the window, admiring the city lights. The faint glow lit up her face, soft and calm.

Bob hovered in the doorway for a moment too long, rehearsing a dozen things in his head before any of them made it to his mouth.

She noticed him, but didn’t turn. “You’re not great at sneaking up, you know that, right?”

He stepped inside sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to sneak. Just… trying to find the right moment.”

“That so?” She finally looked at him, her expression unreadable but clearly open. “Is this it?”

Bob hesitated. “I—uh—guess it has to be.”

He stood awkwardly in front of her bed, wringing his hands together as if the action would put him to ease. She watched him in anticipation, waiting for him to just come out and say it. She didn't even know that she held her breath.

“You’re probably too busy for this. For me," Bob said. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Too busy for what, exactly?” That seemed to get her attention.

“I don’t know. For… whatever this is. I mean, I’ve been trying not to make it weird, but it probably already is weird. You’re always working and focused and—God, I sound like a lunatic—” Bob wanted to cower into himself.

“Bob.” She stood up right in front of him.

He stopped. His eyes met hers. He searched for something, really anything that could have been mistaken as a hint. Rejection or acceptance.

"I already told you: If you want something,” she said gently, “all you have to do is ask.”

The silence stretched between them. He opened his mouth and closed it, desperately trying to gather his courage. She waited for him patiently, not pushing him past discomfort. And then:

“I want you.”

Her lips curved into a quiet smile of satisfaction. As if she’d been waiting exactly for this.

"There it is," Y/n accepted.

Bob didn’t answer—at least, not with words.

Any space between them was quickly closed. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as his mouth crashed into hers, finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back.

She met him halfway, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt to pull him closer. There was no gentleness in it, not at first—just hunger, urgency, months of glances and tension and unsaid things pouring out in one sharp breath.

Her hands found his shoulders, his back, tugging him in like she’d been waiting just as long because she truly had. She guided him toward the bed, slow and steady, letting him follow her lead.

Their clothes began to slip away piece by piece until there was nothing left to shed. His hands finally rose, gently framing her waist like she might vanish. Then his palms slid up—slowly—over her ribs, along her back, until she was pressed against him, chest to chest.

He lifted her without a word, carrying her the rest of the way to the bed, and laying her down like something sacred. When she laid back and pulled him over her, he hovered for a breathless second and searched for any sign of wanting to stop all this.

Her legs shifted, opening just enough to let him settle between them. She weaved her fingers through his brown locks of hair, drawing a soft moan from his lips. He whispered her name like a damn prayer.

"I've waited so long for you," she breathed. He kissed his way down her stomach slowly and worshipfully. Her thighs trembled under his touch and he gently coaxed them open to accommodate his shoulders.

When his mouth finally found her—hot, desperate—she gasped his name and arched against him. Her voice breaking on every syllable, but he desperately needed to taste her. He took his time with her.

Because he wanted to memorize every moan, every whimper, every shake of her legs around his shoulders.

Her hands gripped at whatever they could find—his hair, the sheets beneath them, even his shoulder—as he worked her over with patient intensity. His tongue worked eagerly, drawing every last drop of sweetness she had to offer him.

When she came undone, it was with a cry that echoed off the walls and he held her through it.

She was still catching her breath when he kissed his way back up, slow and reverent, like he was savoring the aftermath. Her fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him toward her until their mouths met—hot and hungry this time, tasting the want between them.

“Bob,” she whispered against his lips, and that alone nearly undid him.

He groaned low in his throat, like he couldn’t contain it anymore. “Say that again.”

She did—his name soft, broken, beautiful—and it lit something inside him. He pressed his forehead to hers, trying to catch his breath, but the way her hands ran down his back and dug into his skin left him trembling. That was all it took.

The last of his control broke. He kissed her hard, needy. She arched into him, nails leaving little red trails down his back, her legs curling around him to pull him even closer.

His body trembled with restraint, every muscle tight with need as he hovered just above her, their breaths mingling in the space between.

Her legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him closer. "Bob..." she whispered, her voice a shiver in the dark. "Don't make me wait any longer."

He swallowed hard, eyes locked to hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. His thumb caressed the edge of her jaw, slow and reverent. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” she promised. “You’re already everything I want.”

He kissed her again—deeper this time, like he needed it to breathe and his hips slowly rolled forward. Their bodies aligning in a way that stole both their breaths.

Careful to draw himself back out partially, Bob thrusted and moved deliberately. He was too busy feeling the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers flexed against his back, and the way her breath caught in her throat when he rocked his hips just right. His name slipped from her lips again.

“God,” he groaned into her neck, barely holding himself together. “You feel… oh, God… so good.”

"Then don’t stop,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of skin slapping together. She tried meeting his thrusts. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And Bob didn’t.

He moved with aching slowness, letting the tension coil tighter, letting it drag out—each motion deeper, more desperate, more consuming. Until they were both trembling from the force of it, completely lost in each other.

The sound of their bodies moving together filled the room, slow and rhythmic, a symphony of want and wonder.

He stole a glance downward—just once—and the sight nearly undid him. The way they moved together, how perfectly she welcomed him, how her body responded like it had always been meant for his. A quiet curse escaped his lips, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing hard.

“You… you’re everything.”

She turned her head, lips brushing against his temple, her voice breathless. She corrected him. “I’m yours.”

That did something to him. He gripped her tighter, forehead pressed to hers, his rhythm faltering only because he was overwhelmed—by her, by the way she looked at him, by the way she whispered his name like he was her only tether.

They could feel it building, that tight pull low in their stomachs, coiling tighter with every movement, every breathless sound that spilled from the other.

“Bob—” she gasped, her voice trembling, wrecked with need. “I’m… I’m so close—”

“I’ve got you,” his own voice rough and unsteady. “Come with me.”

His hand slid down between them, finding the spot that made her cry out. Her walls clenched around him as her body seized beneath him, and that was all it took.

She broke first—back arched, head thrown back, breath catching in a stuttering moan of his name. And as he felt her fall apart around him, he followed—his own release ripping through him in a wave so sharp and overwhelming he could barely breathe.

They held onto each other through it—through the trembling, through the gasping, through the aftershocks that left them both reeling.

And still, he held her like he was afraid to let go. Because now that he had her, he never wanted to stop.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS OR IF YOU'D LIKE MORE WORKS LIKE THIS!

[dcxdpdabbles]

Bruce: Attention, please. I understand a majority of you had plans this weekend. I want to be considerate of your time, so I'll make this brief. Lex Luther has hired a boy to seduce Wayne Enterprise secrets out of Tim. I need you to be weary at the gala. Dismiss.

Tim: Hold on hold on. I'm going to need a LOT more information than just that.

Bruce: I said dismissed Tim. Your siblings have plans.

Dick: *Raises a hand*

Bruce: Yes?

Dick: I can tell this approach is from the parenting books Uncle Clark got you, which is great. Thank you for trying, but we really need more details B. You can be considerate of our time by properly using it.

Bruce: hmmmm. Alright, if everyone feels this way. I suppose I can explain

Batkids: *Nodding*

Bruce clicking on the computer to show a picture: This is Daniel Fenton. His family used to own Fenton Works until the unfortunate loss of Mrs. Madeline Fenton in a car accident. Mr. Jack Fenton was convinced a ghost killed his wife. He was arrested after he crossed state borders chasing it and went on a rampage in downtown Gotham. He was deemed mad with grief and has been in Arkham for the last four years. Neither Jasmine nor Daniel were able to keep the family business afloat and were eventually bought out by Luthor.

Steph: I remember Mr. Fenton. He made that weird ray that was just throwing green goo on people. Besides scarying a few civilians, he didn't do anything bad. No one was harmed.

Bruce: That was the Fenton children argument as well. They were unable to get Mr. Fenton out of Arkham and into a different institution. I fear corruption is at play. During his stay in Arkham Mr.Fenton, has continued to create inventions, though no patent has been filed. All funds from said inventions are being made by local Mafia families instead.

Jason: Those thieves are preying on a grieving man. Rumors has it, Mr. Fenton isn't even aware his wife is dead. His mind blocked it, but he's slowly deteriorating. They're trying to squeeze out every drop of cash they can from him before his mind is completely gone.

Bruce: Exactly, and his children know it. Recently, Clark overheard Luthor offer Daniel a deal. He steals Wayne Enterprise secrets from Tim - probably got the idea after reading the article of Tim coming out, no doubt - and Luthor pulls enough strings to get Mr. Fenton out.

Tim: That's horrible. Is there any way we can help the Fentons instead? Move Mr. Fenton to a different place?

Bruce: I'm working it, but I believe Luthor is blocking my attempts. He did the same to Miss Fenton's college and loan applications. The pair are in a finical crisis that does not seem to get better no matter what they do. Luthor has employed similar tactics before.

Damian: Thus trapping the Fenton siblings in a box, unable to defy Luthor. They may be so desperate they would agree to anything after this many hardships.

Bruce: Exactly.

Tim: Alright I'll sleep with him

Cass: Literally, no one said you needed to sleep with him.

Tim: It's will be tough but I'll take one for the team.

Duke: Tim, that's not what B is saying at all.

Bruce: Wait, wait. I think Tim wants to sleep with Daniel Fenton. Hold on, let me consult the experts *opens parenting book*

Bruce: This isn't covered in the book. I don't know what to do.

Dick: I do. Tim, you're not sleeping with Daniel Fenton, but you are going to pretend his seduction is working. We're going to stop Luthor and the Mafia families controlling Arkham. We need to buy time to do that.

Tim: Kisses and over clothes stuff only. Got it.

Damian: Life has been hard for you since Dowd left you, hasn't it Drake?

[centaurianthropology]

Murderbot as a ‘Cringe’ Litmus Test for the Audience (a.k.a., we are culturally the Corporation Rim)

One of the more interesting things I’ve seen in discussions of ‘Murderbot’ are how many people are not happy that the show made the Preservation team more explicitly hippies.  After all, per our current cultural zeitgeist, hippies are silly, over-earnest, over-feeling, over-EVERYTHING. Why is this team of scientists holding hands and humming?  Why are they taking breaks in the middle of a tense situation to reassure a colleague that they love him? Why do they stand around playing music and dancing during their downtime?  Why did the show make them “Cringe”?

And that got me thinking again about the current cultural antipathy toward sincerity and openness.  People who are seen as open and sincere beyond a fairly narrow scope of emotional expression are treated as deeply weird, off-putting, and most importantly for this conversation, as INCOMPETENT.  You can’t be goofy and competent.  You can’t believe in the power of love and friendship and holding hands and taking a dance break, and still be a good scientist.  You can’t have one of the unsexy sorts of mental health problems (panic disorder) and be a good leader.  In our current cultural moment, you have to be Cool.  You have to be unaffected by both the horrors of the world and the day-to-day joys. 

I think that a lot of people see themselves in ‘The Murderbot Diaries’, and a lot of them understandably love the very anticapitalist tone of the books.  And they wanted Preservation to be Cool Space Communists.  Hypercompetent at all times, serious, without flaw.  Because any personal flaws might be taken as flaws in their cultural and political leanings, right?  And we can’t have silliness or goofiness or fun in our Communist Utopia, or people won’t take us seriously.

But to me, the tension is so much better, so much more real and human and FUN. And it makes the audience question their own implicit biases as much as SecUnit is going to have to contemplate its implicit biases.  This team is comprised of highly talented scientists from a culture that values emotions and, yes, activities that we the audience have been culturally trained to think are Cringe.  They do have a humming consensus circle—so that anyone in the team can have veto power over a decision that has major ramifications not only for a research project, but for their own ethics.  They do like to play music and dance when they’ve got some free time, even if that music would be considered embarrassing or offputting to outsiders.  They do openly love one another and support one another, even in—no, especially in—challenging times.  It’s good to have that tension, both to tell the story and to give the characters and the AUDIENCE an emotional and thematic arc.

Let’s use Dr. Mensah as a the best example so far of this tension. Mensah is a good leader.  In every scene where she’s with the group, she’s the heart of it.  She’s always weighing the fears, the thoughts, the feelings, and the arguments of her friends to come to a decision.  She doesn’t feel like Gurathin’s right about not trusting SecUnit, but she’s also very aware that he knows more about the Corporation Rim than she does, and that his arguments, while rooted in his fears, are rational.  So she ends up deciding that they’ll leave the SecUnit behind for their mission. 

And it’s the wrong call. Going out to the dark site in the map without the SecUnit almost gets her killed. But her decision to climb the scree pile alone makes sense, because she doesn’t want to further endanger Bharadwaj, and if she doesn’t climb up there with her equipment, they won’t get important information about what’s going on with their survey data. And yes, while she’s climbing she has another panic attack. But she keeps climbing through it. Hell, she even takes a moment to encourage the teamwork between SecUnit and Gurathin, because that’s an important part of being their leader.  And, yes, they both roll their eyes because they still don’t like one another. But the important thing is that she’s created this sense of openness, of acceptance, of love.

Being a good leader doesn’t mean making the right call all the time.  It means learning from both right calls and wrong calls.  It means creating an environment where people can be wrong, and learn from their mistakes, and try again to get it right.  And it works!  Gurathin may roll his eyes, but he also has the space to apologize for getting it wrong. He has the space to fuck up and try again. And that is created by her encouragement, by her openness, by her caring even when it becomes embarrassing to a man raised in our culture the Corporation Rim, where open emotion is something to smirk at.

And when she’s alone, Mensah falls apart.  When no one can see her, she has panic attacks, because things are starting to go pear-shaped for these people she loves.  Because one of her dear friends nearly died, and she wasn’t there, and apparently that could happen at any time because their maps are faulty, and the only real rescue is an untrustworthy bond company that is a week away at best.  That’s a perfect recipe for a panic attack, but she hides them because she knows what she needs to be for her friends and colleagues.  She is the leader, and damned if she’s going to let something like her panic disorder stop her from doing that.

That’s not incompetent, that’s incredibly courageous.  Her bravery lies in being afraid and pushing through, not being flawless from the off.  The bravery and the competence and the things that eventually are going to win Murderbot over to loving these humans ARE their flaws and the fact that they don’t let those flaws stop them from trying to be the best people they can be, while also being true to a culture of being open and loving to the point that they can come across, to the jaded construct or audience member, as Cringe.

I think we’re going to see more and more of that as the show unfolds.  We’ve only just laid the groundwork, and established the initial impressions of all the characters.  They are being set up for arcs, and by electing to let the Preservation team be more out-there, more earnest, more Cringe, they’re setting the audience up for an arc too.

Anyway, loving the show, can’t wait for the DeltFall storyline to kick off tonight.  And I love this crew being highly-competent space hippies with realistic human flaws, who love and support one another.  In an unrelentingly Cool, Bleak, and Edgy television landscape, it really is nice to have kind characters be free to be their kooky selves without the show judging them for it.

[midnite-c6]

WAIIT you should write namgyu and myunggi!! I love that broke bum baby daddy

i support this motion. first thing i thought of when i watched ep. 2

⊂⁠*⁠.⁠✧ you're myung-gi's "one and only", but oh no! looks like he's willing to do some teamwork on you...

warnings: 18+, DARK CONTENT, hate sex, double penetration, threesome, mysoginistic!nam-gyu & myung-gi x fem!reader, degradation, rough, noncon || ∆

⊂*⁠.⁠✧ myung-gi promises you, with all his heart, he'd find you. to compensate for whatever absence he had made you feel in the past, to compensate the love that he had neglected you of. but maybe you're the piece of shit one! for not accepting his apologies. for not forgiving him and letting him love you. for not letting him use you again.

it was cut-throat— two simple directions. he'd kill one person to pass, then he'd be running straight back to protect you. you said that he shouldn't, that he should fucking leave you alone because you can handle yourself. deep down, you are waiting for him. unbeknownst to you though, the drug addict offered up a proposal to team-up with myung-gi! two unstoppable forces. maybe this really shows what myung-gi's morality's truly like, he was destined to be partnered up with people like nam-gyu.

myung-gi was quiet most of the time, only breaking his silence by saying something useful. nam-gyu on the otherhand was unbearably talkative, "hey, man, you tryin' to find your girl?" myung-gi knows better than to respond. nam-gyu would nudge his shoulders, "you are. figures, she alone?" there's nothing meaningful to reply to that, nam-gyu doesn't care, he'll continue to talk and talk and talk, tilting his head to the side, curious-like...

"she's cute. really cute. perky tits, glossy eyes." myung-gi freezes, adjusting his knife to threaten nam-gyu's neck. "don't fucking dare," nam-gyu has no dignity left in him anymore, doesn't even show any sense of fear. "when's the last time you complimented her? maybe that's why ya’ two aren't gettin' along-" "i said fuck. off." the blade of his sword would touch the other guy's neck. nam-gyu pouts, whining in a mocking tone: "aww, but that's what's happening, right? i heard you two fightin', she doesn't wanna be with you, bro."

myung-gi stops walking, stops doing anything altogether, furrowed brows and a heart full of burden. was it wrong to think you were such a bitch? he was doing everything for you! "you're mad." nam-gyu snickers, "yeah, i am. fucking frustrated she won't get me."

"we can get her back, you know?" "what do you mean we?"

"we, take our anger out on her, works like a charm." he doesn't acknowledge myung-gi's question, "that bitch pisses me off too much, talks about how i'm crazy. she's crazy for not letting you help her— stupid, even." while myung-gi gives ideas for better teamwork ethic in hide and seek, nam-gyu gives the best ideas for shit like this. "i was kinda thinkin' of... hm... putting her in her place?"

"it wouldn't be that hard, i don't think... you've already gotten her knocked up!" he adds as he giggles to himself, like that was the most intellectual statement in the world. it takes everything not to shove the knife he was holding right through his chest, but myung-gi was easy to convince, to corrupt, maybe you do need to be put in your place.

when you hide by yourself, not looking to run into anyone but myung-gi, you find a small room with colorful drawings painted all over the walls. this was the best thing you could do, running constantly would only make you tired. though, after a few minutes, you hear nam-gyu's voice in the distance, player 124, someone you know you should stay away from. your breath hitches, hand covering your mouth so you wouldn't make a single sound, yet, you also hear myung-gi's voice. myung-gi! maybe he'd be able to save you from nam-gyu!

myung-gi pushes the door open, seeing you eye to eye. his expression softens for a second, before glaring at you, remembering what he wants to do. he slowly walks inside, looking down at you, with an unfamiliar look on his face. "i... myung-gi... careful, i heard nam-gyu's just right down-" nam-gyu would step in, ironically, speaking of the devil. "me? awh, she's thinking of me." myung-gi would grab the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer to him.

"what the- myung-gi." you call out, "you taking drugs too?" nam-gyu would take the hit from the comment, speaking just a few feet away from you, "that all you can say? you're so shallow... jeez... what a woman."

"shush, can you listen to me for once?" myung-gi reasons, but you were so stubborn! "what? what do you want from me again, myung-gi?" "you're fucking ungrateful." he pins you against the wall, two men who have knives were apparently teaming up on you, what else were you supposed to do???

"myung-gi- what are you doing-" he fake-pouts, like how you do whenever he asks for forgiveness. "oh? so now you wanna act weak? you've been tellin' me all this time that you can handle yourself." nam-gyu slides right behind you, "fuuck, tell her, bro!" hands immediately sliding underneath your shirt and on-top of your chest. you yelp. "myung-gi! he's—" he shushes you. "take off her clothes," nam-gyu would immediately do as he was told, he was also the one benefiting from it anyway. "you. don't say a word, unless i tell you to, copy that?" "what the fuck, myung-gi!" he'd grip your jaw, "can't your little brain follow orders? don't speak. simple." "or you die...!" the one behind you adds, you could only whine in response.

with your clothes lying on the floor, you feel filthy, for being sandwiched by the two men, one you barely even know, naked. "she likes this," he looks you in the eye, like he knows what you're going through and makes fun of you. "don't you?" myung-gi smiles, revelling in your defeat. you're not sure if you should respond to that or not. "she's making that face, means she's into this, disgusting shit like this." nam-gyu would gasp in amazement, smiling as he continues to grope your tits and occasionally flicking your clit. "really? told you. told you i'm an expert at what women like."

"myung-gi, please-" "you'll get what i can give you. no more special shit. i've been offering you everything and you're taking it all for granted. you should know by now you're gonna get what i choose to give you." it seems he was done, so genuinely pissed off at how you were treating him, despite how he was treating you just as bad and if not worse! you should stay away from self-absorbed men, but fuck, did a dick feel good. you'd probably get pregnant right now if you weren't already.

so there you were: the father of your child right infront of you, dick sliding in a rhythm inside your shamefully throbbing pussy, trying to match nam-gyu's pace. his left hand still gripping your jaw to look at him and only him. you whine with tears staining your cheeks, looking up at myung-gi like you were sorry. maybe occasionally looking at nam-gyu. "don't look at that jerk, or i'll make this harder for you." his other hand presses against your lower stomach, he knows you liked that. that's why he got you knocked up in the first place.

nam-gyu's warm breath would tickle against your skin, licking the back of your ear, "don't listen to him- he doesn't treat you right— ain't that correct?" nam-gyu's dick also filling up your other hole was too overstimulating, you weren't used to this at all, the way they coaxed you. both his hands were leaving prints on your ass and waist. "don't- fucking- mess with us, with your silly words," "the only thing sweet about you is your holes. sweetheart." that fucking lunatic's laugh ringing in your ear, you didn't wanna moan because a drug addict was fucking you senseless. or because a drug addict and your supposed husband was fucking you at the same time.

"please- i- myung-gi, forgive me...hn..!" it was so hard to speak without doing it though, moaning would mean they felt good, they felt amazing. that they'd be motivated to go on and on... "keep on begging, fuck, you- you're fucking heartless, for making me so stressed and worried about you-" they both continue to thrust and thrust, unstoppable, with all the adrenaline of murder and sex, they could go for hours if the game didn't have a time limit! "yeah... you shouldn't... treat your boyfriend like that- fuck, you're so tight-" "m'sorry- i'm really sorry.. myung-gi.. nam-gy-" myung-gi slaps your mouth, "not him. don't forget who you belong to." "i'm sorry!" you whimpered out. he's suddenly turned all strict on you... :(

you'd guess they had this all figured out, you don't know when they did. when you'd check the timer, there was still 20 minutes left! 20. long. minutes.

"for now on you're gonna be a good little tool for us until the finale..., we'll take it as an apology." "for- for us?" "me and him. i think two dicks’ just enough for a slut like you."

ts is sum freakshit . ✓✓✓ is it me or when myung-gi got meaner he got hotter. like THAT'S whats wrong with me. & dae-ho too... WHO SAID THAT